


There's Not Enough Room

by knittycat99, nubianamy



Series: The Donutverse [19]
Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Birthday, Cooking, Dancing and Singing, Discipline, Dom/sub, Episode: s01e16 Home, Family Drama, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Prophetic Dreams, Relationship Negotiation, Rollerblades & Rollerskates, Secrets, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-03 11:55:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 54,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2849978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knittycat99/pseuds/knittycat99, https://archiveofourown.org/users/nubianamy/pseuds/nubianamy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finn's decisions about how to manage competing demands of family and relationships impact everyone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published as chapters 16-21 of The Fingers of Your Fire. 
> 
> Set just before, during and after episode 1.16 Home. This story follows How Much You Pierce My Spirit and parallels There's an Awful Lot of Breathing Room.
> 
> You can listen to the 8track playlist for Fingers of Your Fire [here](http://8tracks.com/nubianamy/the-fingers-of-your-fire) (part of the enormous FoYF one is still [on YouTube here](http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLc72s_nGT2yT62f9-u6XxCAAE_VjrOVen), although people keep deleting the videos I link to!). I will also include links to all songs throughout the story, for reference.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finn and Kurt prepare for the sing-off. Puck reflects on dinner with his father while eating his second meal with Shelby. Truths are revealed (few of which will be of any surprise to long-time Donutverse readers). Jesse and Finn have their sing-off, with assistance (ahem) from Kurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything in this chapter takes place before episode 1.16 Home begins. Warning for light D/s and one not-so-explicit blowjob in a semi-public place. Next chapter, some angsty Toby! Enjoy.  
> -amy

 "I don't know, Kurt." Finn eyed Kurt as he spread the music books out in front of him, one at a time, on the coffee table in front of the green couch. "Why can't I just ask Brad to do it?"

Kurt tried not to bristle. "He's the accompanist at the Unitarian-Universalist Church, Finn. They're a little busy on Sunday morning. Anyway, I told you I can handle it."

"That's not the question. You're an awesome piano player. It's whether I can handle  _you_  being there, watching me do this." Finn picked up  _Aspects of Love_  and leafed through it listlessly. "Jesse's a hundred times the singer I am. He's got a bigger range, he knows more songs, and he can play the piano. I'm doomed. I don't know why I even challenged him back to begin with."

"Because you're a sixteen-year-old boy," Kurt said, patting his arm. "And when it comes to Rachel, your judgment is kind of crap. Now, you've got a wonderfully versatile baritenor, but your lower range isn't your strong suit. We're going to need to stay away from anything that drops below a -"

"Kurt, I can't sing musical theater." Finn looked completely horrified. "Not going against Jesse. He's going to kick my ass. You've said it yourself; my strength is the rock ballad. Shouldn't I pick one of those?"

"Ah, but that's just what he  _expects_ you to do." Kurt leaned forward with anticipation. "If you can throw something  _unexpected_  at him, he might lose confidence."

Finn grimaced. "Uh... baby? Remember what happened when you tried to do something  _unexpected_  for Thanksgiving last year?"

"That would have gone much better if the rice hadn't burned!"

"I'm just saying," he went on, "sometimes there's a reason why it's called a strength. I know I'm not as good a singer as Jesse. If I try to do the things he's good at, I'm going to lose."

Kurt glared at him for another ten seconds. Then he sighed, tossing  _The Sound of Music_  back into the pile. "You're right," he admitted. "I just want you to do the things  _I'm_  good at because they're easier for me."

Finn reached over and snuggled Kurt. No matter how irritated he was, Finn's snuggles always made him feel better. He leaned back against Finn's chest. "At least you're being honest. Anyway, I don't think you really think I should sing "My Favorite Things," or anything like that, do you?"

Kurt considered it. "You would make a good Rolf. Although you're not going to be seventeen going on eighteen for a while."

"Huh?"

Kurt reached out and snagged the book again, flipping open the page to the appropriate song. "I would have thought I'd have made you sit through  _The Sound of Music_  enough times for you to remember that song by now."

"I'm usually wearing headphones - ow." Finn rubbed his arm, grinning. "Your knuckles are poky. Seriously, the only one I actually listen to is  _RENT._  What? You don't want me to be honest?"

Kurt turned up his glare again. "There's honest and there's brutal, Finn. You might as well learn what tact is all about. For example, your mother's bedroom set? Requires brutal. But my dad's eggs, they need tact."

"My mother's bedroom set? What are you -?"

"Never mind," Kurt went on hurriedly. If Carole hadn't told Finn about selling her furniture yet, he wasn't going to be the one to bring it up. "Here; this is the song I meant." He broke into a verse of Liesl's part:

" _I am sixteen going on seventeen  
_ _I know that I'm naive  
_ _Fellows I meet may tell me I'm sweet  
_ _And willingly I believe..."_

"Oh, yeah, I remember now," Finn nodded. He peered closer at the page, breaking into a smile. "Heh. Baby, we should totally sing this together. You're sixteen; I'm seventeen. Well, next week. And, check it out:

_You are sixteen going on seventeen_  
 _Fellows will fall in line_  
 _Eager young lads and rogues and cads  
_ _Will offer you food and wine."_

He poked Kurt. "Adam, huh?"

Kurt wasn't going to bite, but he couldn't control his blush. Finn, singing this particular song from his favorite musical, was bound to do that to him. "He's neither a rogue nor a cad. And, no, I didn't really mean for you to sing this song, or even a song like this. There are plenty of power ballads from musicals and rock operas, too. But okay, I get your point. We'll restrict our searching to these books here. Everything from seventies through contemporary. We'll find something perfect."

It wasn't even seven-thirty by the time Kurt had assembled five choices for Finn to try. Kurt tried not to be self-conscious as he picked out each one's accompaniment on the little spinnet piano. Finn looked equally ill at ease. He glanced at the staircase. "Uh, Puck's not here, is he?"

"He's having dinner with his father, but he promised he'd come over afterward. We should hear him come in." Kurt reached out and took his hand. "You're going to be fine, Finn. You're... I think your natural talent carries you further than you realize."

"Yeah?" Finn looked like he wanted to believe him. Kurt nodded emphatically.

"And you're hot. Hot boys singing always get bonus points."

Finn seated himself at the piano next to Kurt, looking even more dubious. "But Jesse's way hotter than me. I mean..." He turned red, ducking his head. Kurt stared at him.

"Uh,  _no,"_  he stressed. "Jesse's smarmy and...  _Jesse._  He's  _that guy_  in musical theater. You really don't want to be him, Finn. You're clearly the good guy in this scenario. Enjoy it." He played the opening riff to every REO Speedwagon song ever. "Try this one. 'Keep On Loving You.'"

Kurt could see what Finn meant, though, about the challenge of Kurt being there to witness him singing. As soon as Finn began, Kurt was delivered right back to the first time Finn had sung for him, huddled in the bathroom behind a locked door, tears streaming down his face while he listened to Finn stumbling through 'Can't Fight This Feeling.' Or, worse, on stage accompanying Finn while he sang 'I'll Stand By You' to Puck in the auditorium, while Kurt was still laboring under the belief that he was doomed to be the one to watch while Finn got the guy he  _really_ wanted. It was going to be impossible for Kurt's emotions not to show on his face.

"Um." Kurt took a breath when Finn was done, avoiding his gaze. "Yeah. That was... good. How did it feel?"

But Finn was picking Kurt's hands off the keyboard, turning him around to face him on the piano bench. "Baby..." His hand on Kurt's felt far too intimate, and Kurt quailed under the intensity of it. "Why are you hiding from me?"

"Because I can't -" Kurt could hear himself snapping at Finn, and he stopped, attempting to be more calm. "I'm trying to be a good boyfriend. I'm trying, okay? And sometimes I watch you spending all this energy on other people, and... and I don't feel like I get enough of you, and I can't always be  _nice_  about it." He dug his fingertips into Finn's arm, hearing him sigh. "I'm sorry, but you said honest."

"No, it's... good. That's good." Kurt cringed to hear the kindness in his voice. "You're right. That's what I want. Maybe... I think I  _should_  just call Brad."

"No!" Kurt sounded so desperate to himself, it was almost offensive. "No. Finn, I want to do this. I need..."

"Baby, what do you need?" Finn kissed his face, his cheek, his mouth, and Kurt kissed him back, letting him taste his fervor. This was Finn, and Kurt was safe. Finn really did want him to be honest. Kurt dug in deep to find the words to express the hurt that welled up in him.

"I need to - to give something to you. Something nobody else can do. I need to be - to be important. Unique. I don't want to just be  _another_  of the people in your life. I want to be special." He held back Finn's protest with a glare. "And don't tell me I don't need to worry about that. I'm already worrying."

"Okay," he said softly. "Okay. I hear you." Finn gathered him closer, holding him tight in his arms, and Kurt felt something inside him let go. He started to cry.

"You have Carl," he explained, through his tears, "and the things you get from him... and you have Noah, and the things you get from  _him..._  and I thought, well, if you're not going to get to do that for Noah, at least  _I_ can at least give you that... but then things with Patrick began to head toward that direction... and Rachel, she's like your new best friend or something? And now this business with Jesse." He wiped his eyes carefully with his handkerchief. "I don't think I can deal with all of it, Finn. It feels like something has got to give."

Finn was silent, holding him. "You're right. I've been thinking about it, too. I have too much going on."

He sniffed. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I'm working on it, and I have some ideas. Just... will you try to trust that you're important to me, that  _this_  is important to me, and I'm not going to ignore it or pretend it's going to go away?" Kurt relaxed a little more as Finn rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. "If this, what we're doing, if it's gonna be something that happens for a long time - and don't give me that look, Kurt -"

"I'm not giving you  _any_  look," he protested, even though he was, and he knew Finn knew he knew. He burrowed in closer, burying his face in Finn's chest.

"I'm just - I have to look at the long game. That's what I do. It's not ever going to be a simple thing for me, this thing we're doing."

Kurt felt for his hand and took it. It felt sweaty, but he held on anyway. "You might as well use the words for it. If we're going to be doing it for a long time."

"God," Finn muttered. "Okay. This - you know. Loving all these people."

"Polyamory," Kurt prompted.

"Fine. Whatever. And - taking care of each other."

He sat up, wiping his eyes. "Domestic discipline. Dominance, submission."

"Yeah. That." Finn gave him his half-smile. "Baby, if you have to know you're doing something that nobody else can do - and, really, there are lots of them -  _this_ is one."

"What is?"

"Being smart about all of this. Putting words to it. You do that better than any of the rest of us. I need you for that."

The smile came out, unbidden. "Really? You need that?"

"God,  _yes._  I'm - I don't have words like that. Me and Puck, we talk, but we don't really  _talk,_  you know? But when I'm with you, you help me figure out what I mean, all these things I'm feeling."

"It's the only way I know how to do it," Kurt said honestly. "I'm just glad you don't hate it."

"No." Finn kissed him again, softly, then with more intensity. Kurt could feel it in his toes. "I don't hate it at all."

The sigh took with it the bulk of Kurt's anxiety, and he relaxed against the safety and security of Finn. They contemplated the sheet music propped up before them. "Which song do you like best?"

"I think that one, about being the flame. I like that one."

"Mmmm," Kurt agreed. "Is it about Puck or about Patrick?"

"Kind of all of you. And me, how I am with Carl." He rolled his eyes at Kurt's look. "Okay, Jesus, you're going to make me...? All right. The way I  _submit_  to Carl. And the way I  _dominate_  Puck." A little sigh escaped Finn's lips. "Used to."

"Will again. I'm sure of it." He played with Finn's fingers. "Thank you. For helping me get out of the awful place I was in."

"Always, baby." Finn dropped his voice to a whisper. "I can think of another thing you can do that would be  _special_."

The tingle in his toes spread to all of his extremities, then coalesced in his cock. "Finn Hudson, the one thing you are not is subtle." Kurt took both his hands, pulling him toward his bedroom. "If we hurry, we'll still have time to rehearse your song once more before bed."

* * *

When Carl arrived on Saturday morning to pick up Finn, Kurt was with him at the door. Finn looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there, but Kurt was holding onto his arm with grim determination.

"We're coming to your house tomorrow," said Kurt. "I'm Finn's accompanist."

"For the sing-off." Kurt nodded, and Finn, squirming, followed suit. Carl stifled a sigh and searched for a response that didn't sound like  _Jesse's going to beat the snot out of you._ "This is... ambitious of you, Finn."

"We know. I thought if he could work on the song in the car, on the way to Columbus, you could give him some help." Kurt gave Finn a little push, then handed Carl a CD and some sheet music. "Maybe he could sing it at the open mic, for practice."

"Good idea. We can make that happen." Carl glanced at the title.  _The Flame_ , by Cheap Trick. "I think I know this song. Thanks, Kurt. We won't be back too late."

"We really don't have to practice," Finn pleaded as Carl took his arm and led him to the car. His eyebrows were compellingly pitiful, but Carl steeled himself against the expression.

"No, you  _really_  do, if you don't want him to crush you. Jesse's been performing his entire life. He grew up in New York City, surrounded by other actors' kids. His adoptive mother runs a day care for Broadway families. Now, at least you don't have to compete against him in dance... right?"

Finn looked terrified at the idea. "God, no."

"All right. So just singing. That might be his weakest spot, but he's still just as talented as you are, and a lot more experienced." He waited for Finn to climb into the Corvette, then rested a hand on his knee. "You're going to need to be smart about this, if you want to win."

"Are you kidding?" Finn's laugh sounded a little hysterical. "I'm not going to  _win."_

"No, think about this. Angela's agreed to be your judge. She's not a musician, but she's got performing experience. And she likes  _you_  a lot more than she likes Jesse, trust me." He squeezed Finn's knee, smiling encouragingly. "I don't think she'd automatically choose you, but you've got a shot."

Finn gave him a watery smile in return. They rode in silence for a while, Carl accelerating smoothly around the corner and onto the highway toward Columbus.

"You know," Finn said eventually, "you're the only one who didn't ask me  _why_  I was doing this. Like, who didn't think it was a really stupid, macho thing to do."

Carl snorted. "It  _is_  a really stupid, macho thing to do. Doesn't mean I don't understand it." He flickered his eyes to Finn, then back to the road.  _Or love you just as much._  He felt Finn's hand creep into his, and he gripped it tightly, hearing Finn's sigh. "Why don't you put that CD in and you can run through the song a couple times before I give you any feedback."

* * *

_(Author's note: This is where the first section of[chapter 3 of There's An Awful Lot of Breathing Room](../../524843/chapters/928910) occurs. If you haven't read that story, Finn and Carl show up at Java the Hut and Patrick isn't there. The rest of that chapter follows on Wednesday. Back to FoYF. -amy)_

* * *

When Puck's dad had had the idea of meeting for dinner, he'd suggested McDonalds. Puck knew it was his job to be understanding and whatever, but  _no,_  just no. He wasn't about to say "I never eat out because the ingredients suck and nothing's locally sourced," but he also definitely wasn't going to offer to cook for his dad.

When he brought this up with Shelby the next day, it was over his own creation of artichoke-spinach quesadillas. She'd called and said she was going to be in town, so it seemed ordinary enough to invite her to stop by for dinner, which was a lot easier than making him drive all the way out to Akron again. She'd asked him for directions to his place, but once he'd said  _the corner of Main and North,_  she'd sighed and said, "Yeah, I know where that is. Upstairs, right?" Which was just another piece of the Shelby puzzle he didn't understand, but he knew she'd been to Carl's office before, so she had to know  _something_  about him.

Shelby gave Puck a strange look, cutting her quesadilla into pieces and using her fork to take a delicate bite. "You mean you'll cook for me, somebody you barely know, but you won't cook for your own father?"

"He's not a real father," Puck said. "He took off when I was nine. And when he _was_  around, he was either way too much in our shit or not nearly enough."

Puck already recognized the little  _what-the-fuck_  expression on Shelby's face, and it reminded him so much of his own that he nearly grinned. He managed to hide it behind his quesadilla.

"He's still your father," she objected.

"Seriously, I think he lost that job description when he started hitting us." Puck wiped his mouth on his napkin, watching her expression change, and sighed. "Don't get all poor-baby about it. It's just going to piss me off."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Shelby said dryly. "What did you and your dad end up doing?"

Instead of McDonald's, he'd told his dad he would meet him at Lazeza on Cole, which served Lebanese food and at least wasn't full of totally inedible shit. And maybe his dad had been attempting to do this understanding thing as well, because he didn't even blink, even though Puck doubted his dad had ever considered eating Lebanese in his life. He'd given the dolmades Puck ordered a skeptical look, but he ate them without complaining, and when dinner was done, he suggested they meet there again next week.

"The weirdest thing was how normal things seemed between me and my dad," he told Shelby, as he brought out the cilantro-tortilla soup. "Right away, we, like, fell into this familiar banter. It felt like talking to Meemee - my brother - or the way things used to be with my Ma on good days." He shrugged, ladling out a bowl for each of them and sprinkling chihuahua cheese on top. "I can't help but be suspicious, because maybe it's supposed to be that easy with relatives, or... or maybe he's totally fucking with me, and I can't tell?"

Shelby considered her soup for a long time before she took a spoonful. "I think it could still feel easy, even if he really ends up being a jerk. But I don't know if you can know if it's worth it until you give him a chance."

"I know. I mean, I don't even care about him or what he wants. I just think people deserve that. A chance."

"Yeah?" Her voice was soft and vulnerable suddenly, and Puck blinked up at her, watching her staring into nothing and shivering.

"Yeah." He cleared his throat, and she startled, looking up at him, her eyes wide.  _Who does she remind me of?_  "Do you... can I get you something? Some water, anything?"

Shelby smiled, not saying anything for a few more seconds, and then she nodded. "Water would be good, thanks."

He put a couple of cubes of ice into it, because even though it was still January and the unfiltered tap water was cold enough, it didn't taste all that good. Even a cheap filter would set him back about fifty bucks.  _I really need a job._  He slid the glass across the table.

"When do you think you'll see him again?" she asked.

"He said next week," said Puck. "He and my sister already get together once a month, so I think I might bring her along." He shrugged, sinking back down into his chair. "Maybe she could be my reality check. She's pretty sharp for an eleven-year-old."

She tapped the table with her nails. "You're pretty sharp, yourself. For a fifteen-year-old."

"Sixteen," he muttered, trying not to blush, because how often did adults tell  _him_  he was sharp? Even Burt, who'd said plenty of nice things about him, never tried to pretend he was smart like Kurt. Which was fine; he didn't need to be that. But... it felt kind of nice, to think somebody - and not just somebody, but  _a teacher_  - might see him that way.

He hadn't planned on dessert, but he had enough things in his pantry and freezer to pull together strawberry pound cake. Shelby was distracted enough by watching him whip the cream that he got to see her actual reaction - tense and anticipatory - when he casually mentioned, "So, Jesse's at McKinley now."

"Yeah. You've got a real advantage over Vocal Adrenaline now. With him on your side, you might actually win at Sectionals."

"Hey, I don't have any illusions about us being better than VA. You and Toby kick ass. And, seriously, Jesse's not here to do us any favors. He just wants to snuggle with Rachel."

That was definitely a wince.  _Interesting._ "Jesse has five months of high school left. If he can survive his senior year, he's off to California. He already has his full ride. I'm not going to worry about his choices too much... no matter how much I disagree with them."

Puck shook his head, laughing. "What, are you his freaking mother or something? Since when do teachers care that much?"

"Hey, don't tell me your Mr. Schuester doesn't care about you that way. I've heard him talk about his students." She glared at him, and Puck felt a little abashed, but then he recovered and glared right back.

"You sure you're not doing the same shit as Carl?"

That shut her up. He almost felt bad, pushing her that way when he'd said he wouldn't bring up Carl. But she recovered enough to push her chair back and carry her plate to the sink. Then she turned back to face him again, crossing her arms.

"All right," she said. "I'm going to tell you the truth, because clearly you've got some warped ideas about me. I really don't want to think too hard about what you might be doing with Carl..." She really did look disturbed, grimacing with distaste. "... but that, what he does next door? I have  _nothing_  to do with that."

"Um, okay? I mean, I don't really see him anymore, not about that..." He trailed off as her glare intensified, and tried to look attentive. "Yeah, fine, whatever, I'm listening."

She gave him a short nod. "Okay." Then she closed her eyes, muttering, "I can't believe I'm talking about this with a teenager."

"Seriously, you don't have to tell me anything. There's shitloads I haven't told you about  _me_. I mean, I went to fucking California last week and spent the whole weekend in a guy's bedroom, doing shit you really wouldn't believe. When I wasn't hanging out with Lady Gaga, I mean."

"Of course." She smirked, clearly not believing a word of it. "All right... your lawyer. Davis. We went to school together. High school, in Colorado. He was my best friend; we were the stars of our community, all set to take the theater world by storm once we left the small town for the big city."

"Sounds familiar, actually." Puck leaned an elbow on his knees, fascinated. "So Davis did theater in college?"

"You're jumping ahead. We did stupid things first. We got pregnant, for one."

Puck was a little surprised to hear Davis had enough straight in him to actually manage to knock up a chick, but he wasn't really one to pass judgment. "You guys have a kid?" Then, with a shock, he got it. "Fucking A, you have  _Jesse!"_

"Language, Noah," she sighed. "Yes. Jesse."

His mind was already racing, because there was  _no_ fucking way, if Jesse was her kid, that she wouldn't have known he was leaving Carmel for McKinley. But he wasn't going to bring it up. He was  _sharp,_  after all. So he just waited.

"He went to live with my sister in New York. Davis and I went to school in Michigan. That's where we met Carl."

"Hold on, hold on." Puck put up a hand, feeling like he was right on the verge of grasping something about this whole situation. "Davis told me about this triad that Davis and Carl were in, back in college. That was  _you?_  He didn't say her name was Shelby, though."

She grimaced. "Ah, yes, my young and self-centered days. I was going by Bebe, back then. You may  _not_ repeat that. Or any of this, all right?"

"Um... okay." He raised a hopeful eyebrow. "Can I tell my boyfriends?"

"If you believe they won't repeat it, either? I don't really want any of it to be common knowledge, but Jesse... I especially don't want him hurt by my childish mistakes." Warily, Shelby watched him stand and bring his own plate to the sink. "Don't make me regret trusting you."

"No, it's cool," he promised. "I won't tell anybody else, and my guys, they won't talk. So was Carl... doing the stuff he does, back then? In college?"

"He's older than us; he was already in dental school by then. And yes, he was, though neither Davis nor I found out about it until... well. Until it was too late for me. And for him, too, I suppose." The more words she spoke, the more Shelby seemed tired and fed up. She rubbed her eyes. "I should get going. Jesse and I have some words to exchange before he makes any more  _choices._  Thank you for dinner, Noah."

"Yeah, it was... thanks." He took a few steps after her, uncertain about how far to follow. This whole situation was turning into something completely different than what he'd expected it to be. She waved him off.

"I'll show myself to the door. Carl's owned this apartment for years. I've stayed here more than once, myself."

Shelby was gone for more than a minute before Puck realized what was incongruous about her story.  _Finn told me Carl and that chick Bebe had a kid our age, but he'd said it was a girl. Carl is supposed to have a daughter, not a son, so he couldn't have been talking about Jesse._

After several more minutes of wrestling with the idea, he gave up trying to make it all make sense. As much as he'd decided Shelby wasn't the complete bitch she'd originally appeared to be, there were still too much unspoken for him to really believe everything she was saying. And yet, while he brushed his teeth, he was already planning their next meal in his head... and it didn't feel scary at all.

* * *

Sunday morning, Angela opened the door for Finn and Kurt with her usual decorum, but she murmured something quietly to Kurt while Finn was taking off his coat. "You're welcome to come into the front room any time," she said to both of them, "but there are sandwiches in the kitchen, so you might consider stopping in there first."

"Thank you," said Finn, smiling, but when Angela returned to her work, Finn looked around nervously. "He's here. He's got to be."

"Finn, Jesse's not the bogeyman."

Finn glared at him. "What'd she say to you?"

"That the A#4 on the Steinway was a little out of tune." Kurt rolled his eyes. "Come on. I promise, if he jumps out and gets you, you can borrow my underwear."

Kurt knew Carl had prepared Finn in advance that he wouldn't be around, which Kurt thought was probably wise, knowing how Finn reacted to Carl's presence. That wasn't exactly the position Finn needed to be in at the moment. But Kurt watched him wring his hands and chew the inside of his lip with anxiety. It didn't appear that this was going to be much better. Kurt wondered if it  _would_  have been better, if Patrick had been there at the coffee shop this week, and Finn had been able to see him.

"Wait," Kurt said, putting a hand on Finn's chest. He glanced up and down the hall, then nudged open a door. It was a butler's pantry, the kind that had doors going through from both sides, and contained dishes and a serving station. Not ideal, but Kurt decided it would have to do. He took Finn's hand and pulled him into the room. Finn followed with barely a protest.

It was nearly dark, other than the light that filtered under and around the edges of the doors. It reminded Kurt strongly of their stolen moments in the janitor's closet at school, that they'd had with Puck all through November. He reached up and took Finn's face in both hands, kissing him emphatically. Finn responded, but after a moment, he pulled away.

"What are you doing, Kurt?" The question seemed resigned. Kurt kissed him again, working his way down Finn's jaw.

"You don't like it?"

"That's not the question." He reached out and seized Kurt's arm, pulling their bodies apart. That was even more of a turn-on than the kissing, but it still wasn't what Kurt was going for. Kurt struggled in Finn's grip, and Finn let him go with an exasperated sigh. "We don't have time for -"

"We don't have time  _not_  to do it," Kurt hissed. "You've got to pull yourself together, and this is the quickest way I know how to do it if you're not going to let Carl spank you in the laundry room."

Kurt heard Finn swear quietly, but he stepped in closer to Kurt, forcing his body up against the cupboard. "All right. Your wrists."

"What do you -" Kurt squeaked as Finn seized them, jerking them up above his head. The sheet music fluttered to the floor. Finn nudged Kurt's thighs apart with one knee, rubbing gently at first, then with more firm pressure. "Oh, god."

"What did you think you were going to get me to do?" Finn sounded almost amused now. He kissed Kurt lazily, making his mouth wet and loose. The comparison to other things was not lost on Kurt, and by the time Finn was done, he was both rock-hard and almost boneless. He could feel his inhibitions quickly slipping away.

"Please," he whispered, mouthing at Finn's jaw.

"Please  _what?"_  Finn whispered back. Kurt swallowed.

"Please...  _sir."_  He felt Finn's response to that, a tightening of his hands, a low groan. "Let me suck you."

"Right here?"

" _Please,_ " Kurt begged.

Finn paused for one very brief moment before taking his hands and resting them on Kurt's shoulders - he knew better than to put them in his carefully Luis-styled haircut, because talk about a dead giveaway - and pushing him to his knees. Kurt rested his forehead on Finn's tense stomach, unzipping Finn's jeans and slipping a hand inside his boxers. He loved the sound of Finn's sigh.

"Okay, baby. You always take such good care of me. Go ahead."

Kurt knew he could be quicker if he used a combination of hands and mouth and one mostly-dry finger. The danger of discovery in this compromising situation was almost more appealing than the control Finn was exerting over him, and Kurt found himself overwhelmed with the need to touch himself, to rub, to stroke, anything. But he waited until he heard Finn's tense, quiet words: "So hot, that's it... come on; you, too."

He managed to work his handkerchief out of his pocket and into his pants, a meager barrier against the resulting mess, but better than nothing, and there was no way Kurt was going to say no to Finn demanding this. He didn't know if he could even if he'd wanted to. Regardless, he beat Finn to the finish with ten seconds to spare.

They waited there for another half a minute while Finn gently stroked his hair and Kurt tried not to freak out about what he'd just done, or who could have walked in. But the panic passed, and he was able to zip both himself and Finn and to ditch the handkerchief in the trash can. Then Finn pulled him to a shaky standing position, and kissed him quite thoroughly all over again.

"God," whispered Finn. "That was incredible. And I feel so much better."

Kurt couldn't stop the smile from overtaking his face. "I'm so glad to hear it. If you take the music and find the piano, I'll find you there."

Angela was waiting in the hallway, but she was facing the other way when they emerged, and when Kurt asked her brightly for the bathroom, she didn't blink an eye. He quickly washed up, inspecting his pants to make sure no obvious stains were showing. He stared at himself in the mirror, wondering exactly where this Kurt Hummel had come from, and if he was really worthy of everything he was currently attempting to do.

"Adam's not going to believe this," he muttered, shaking his head.

Jesse was at the Steinway when Kurt entered the room, but he stood and gestured for Kurt to take his place on the bench.

"I figured you'd want a little time to warm up," he suggested, "it being a new instrument and all."

Kurt couldn't exactly say  _I've practiced on this piano twice before, and one time my boyfriend was getting spanked while I did it,_  but he smiled coolly and nodded at Jesse before sitting down. Knowing it was a little unnecessarily aggressive, but not caring all that much, he launched into the piece he'd written for Adam, playing it more quickly than usual. It was perhaps a better instrument, even, than Lady Gaga's white grand piano. He took a vicious pride in the way Jesse stared at him afterwards.

"Are you ready?" he asked, taking Finn's sheet music and arraying it page by page across the music rack.

"Be my guest." Jesse found a seat on the sofa beside Angela, who'd appeared soundlessly while Kurt was playing.

"Are there any rules I should be aware of," she asked, "or should I assume you're looking for my opinion regarding which boy gives the better overall performance?"

"That about covers it," Finn nodded, and Jesse followed suit. Angela nodded in response, her hands folded in her lap.

Finn took his position behind Kurt, next to the piano bench, and took a long breath. Kurt had to wonder if Carl was hiding in his office, or in the kitchen, possibly with Tess on speed dial. He smoothed his face into a calm expression, and began the intro.

[ _http://youtu.be/vPxgat9Sd4w_ ](http://youtu.be/vPxgat9Sd4w)

_Another night slowly closes in,_  
 _And I feel so lonely_  
 _Touching heat freezing on my skin,  
_ _I pretend you still hold me_

_I'm going crazy, I'm losing sleep._  
 _I'm in too far, I'm in way too deep over you_  
 _I can't believe you're gone.  
_ _You were the first, you'll be the last_

Finn had sung it enough times now that he didn't seem quite so embarrassed to do it, even in the face of Jesse's polite boredom. It wasn't even hard to guess what his motivation was for the song, not with the way things seemed to be pointing with Patrick from the coffee shop, or the way he was hoping they would go with Puck, again.

_Wherever you go, I'll be with you._  
 _Whatever you want, I'll give it to you_  
 _Whenever you need someone_  
 _To lay your heart and head upon_  
 _Remember: after the fire, after all the rain,_  
 _I will be the flame  
_ _I will be the flame_

He stole a couple glances at Angela, but wasn't really surprised to find her listening with no expression on her face. Carl had trained her to be an unobtrusive piece of furniture, and there was no way she was going to interrupt Finn's performance with an emotional reaction. It was almost reassuring.

_Watching shadows move across the wall,_  
 _I feel so frightened._  
 _I wanna run to you, I wanna call,  
_ _But I've been hit by lightning._

_Just can't stand up for falling apart._  
 _Can't see through this veil across my heart, over you._  
 _You'll always be the one.  
_ _You were the first, you'll be the last..._

Finn wove his way through the last chorus with passion and excellent form, even hitting that high B that sometimes gave him trouble with effortless poise. Kurt smiled on the final chord. He couldn't exactly show Finn how he felt, not here, but he really couldn't have been prouder.

"Very nice," said Jesse, sounding maybe a little surprised. The smile he gave Finn appeared genuine, and he reached out to shake his hand. Finn shook it, smiling back. They exchanged places, so Finn sat beside Angela on the couch. Aside from a little nod, she barely acknowledged him.

Jesse took Kurt's place on the bench once again. He didn't bother with music. The first eight bars of the intro gave the song away, at least to Kurt, and he listened with a sinking heart as Jesse's rich tenor rolled out over the room. It was as if Finn had already lost.

[ _http://youtu.be/3tiW6IOUvLM?t=1m_ ](http://youtu.be/3tiW6IOUvLM?t=1m)

_No man, no madness_  
 _Though their sad power may prevail_  
 _Can possess, conquer, my country's heart_  
 _They rise to fail_  
 _She is eternal_  
 _Long before nations' lines were drawn_  
 _When no flags flew, when no armies stood  
_ _My land was born._

_And you ask me why I love her_  
 _Through wars, death and despair._  
 _She is the constant, we who don't care_  
 _And you wonder will I leave her - but how?  
_ _I cross over borders but I'm still there now._

Kurt couldn't help exchange a glance with Finn.  _Chess_  was an excellent choice, and "Anthem" was a power ballad, no question. But the lyrics... even Finn couldn't have missed the message in them. Jesse pounded out the chords as he approached the final stanza:

_How can I leave her?_  
 _Where would I start?_  
 _Let man's petty nations tear themselves apart  
_ _My land's only borders lie around my heart._

It was almost impossible not to clap, but Kurt managed to sit on his hands and remain quiet. Finn's expression was oblique, but he nodded, acknowledging Jesse's admittedly flawless performance. "Wow. Great job, man."

"Thank you," Jesse said. He managed to make a nod look like a bow. Then he stood, watching Angela. "I'm sure we'd love to hear your comments now."

Angela nodded, considering both boys. "I imagine it comes as no surprise," she began, turning to face them, "to hear that you are both very talented. I enjoyed both performances so much, as well as yours, Kurt. I'm certain I would speak for Carl as well if I were to invite you to play the Steinway as often as you like."

"Thank you," Kurt said, feeling a little startled. It was the most words he'd ever heard from Angela, and she wasn't done yet.

"Finn." She looked at him steadily. "I know you are new to performing, but you have a characteristic stage presence, very personable and accommodating. Perhaps there were technical flaws in your singing, but an ordinary listener such as myself could never find them to point them out. If you made mistakes, you covered them well. This was a good song for you."

She turned to Jesse. "Jesse, I've been watching and hearing you perform since you were twelve. It's delightful to hear the ways in which you've grown as a singer since then. You've grown into quite a young man. If you'd been on the stage, I think it would have been harder to tell from the audience just how emotionally detached you were from the song you just sang. Perhaps it is my perspective as an adult, but the themes in this song demand more life experience, more... trauma, if you will, before they will really come across in your singing. I suspect in ten years, you'll have had that, and will be a better performer because of it." She reached for Finn's hand, shaking it. "Congratulations. You win. Now, if you'd all come into the kitchen, those sandwiches aren't going to eat themselves."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music credits:
> 
> • "[Sixteen Going On Seventeen](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-vy39H53eAM)" from The Sound of Music by Rodgers & Hammerstein, 1959.  
> • "[The Flame](http://youtu.be/vPxgat9Sd4w)" by Cheap Trick, 1988, from their album Lap of Luxury.  
> • "[Anthem](http://youtu.be/3tiW6IOUvLM?t=1m)" from Chess by Benny Andersson and Björn Ulvaeus, formerly of ABBA, and lyrics by Tim Rice, 1986.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finn returns from Jesse's and drops a bomb on Kurt. Finn talks to his mom and she drops her own bomb. Finn realizes some things. Kurt enlists Puck to help him deal with Sue's demands and sings a song for Finn. Toby tries to surprise Will and gets hit by a third surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it's particularly appropriate that I'm writing a chapter about home while on an airplane, flying 3900 miles away from mine. The Kurt/Finn interaction in this episode is really awesome in canon, but obviously doesn't quite fit with my characters, so I had to make some minor modifications to a couple scenes. Warnings for angst all around. The Carole backstory discussed here is dealt with in [Plant Your Love and Let It Grow](http://archiveofourown.org/works/416897). Enjoy.  
> \- amy

It was as though someone had alerted the media - which, Finn discovered later, wasn't too far from the truth. Carl had immediately called his mother, who was waiting with Burt and Sarah by the door as he and Kurt climbed the steps to the Hummel house.

"So?" she said, without waiting for him to say a word. Finn sighed.

"It went better than expected," Kurt replied, taking his coat. "Really, Finn did a very respectable job, even if -"

"I won." Finn stepped in front of Kurt, raising an eyebrow at his mom. "Can we drop it?"

"Um," she said, just before Sarah brought out the cake.

"It's actually really easy to turn "Good Try" into "Congratulations" just by adding some extra swoops and cursivy bits," she said. She placed the knife into his hand. "Chocolate with chocolate chip frosting."

"Sarah," he protested, but he couldn't help smile, because  _cake,_ and  _Puckerman cake,_  was nothing he would ever turn down. He gave her a quick half-hug, not wanting to embarrass her any more he had to. "Thanks."

His mom handed five plates over from the kitchen, along with forks and napkins. "I'm guessing that means you won't let Kurt play the recording of the song?"

"The -  _what?"_

"Just on my phone," Kurt mumbled, ducking his red face. "I won't put it on Youtube or anything. Come on, you recorded my Cheerios performance, I don't see that this is any different?"

"Carl asked him to," his mom whispered, a little too loudly even to pretend it was meant to be private. Finn groaned, tossing his fork on the table.

"Hey, leave the guy alone," Burt spoke up. "Finn, you don't have to deal with this if you don't want to. You can take the cake downstairs."

"There's yarn all over the coffee table. Don't mess with the piles; Sarah and Frances and I were going to start a project, so..." His mom's last words were lost on Finn as he escaped down the stairs to the family room, sinking down onto the green couch with a heavy sigh. Then he pulled out his phone to reread the texts from Carl for the fifteenth time.

_Carl Howell - 2 texts_   
_1:46pm: I was so proud of my boy today.  
_ _1:50pm: Keep Friday afternoon free. We'll negotiate Saturday when we get there._

He didn't need to wonder what Friday was going to be about. It was his seventeenth birthday, and Carl had been making offhanded comments about it for weeks. Finn was a little embarrassed to admit, even to himself, that he'd also been watching Wednesday, but a one month anniversary seemed like something a guy  _should_  keep track of. So far Carl hadn't said anything about that, and it was kind of bothering him more than he thought it should. He might need ask Kurt about that later.

But that was another problem. Kurt already so much a part of his life. Almost too much. He watched Puck come and go to his own apartment with wistful, grass-is-greener regret. Yeah, sometimes he wished he could sleep in his own bed without having to go through the whole long parting scene. Which was stupid, considering he loved sleeping with Kurt as much as Kurt loved sleeping with him, and when Puck had him over it was pretty awesome, and - okay, the three of them in Kurt's bed might be a little crowded. Having the king-sized bed at the hotel in Los Angeles, even though they had barely spent any time in it together at all, had been awesome. He wondered how likely it was that they could convince Burt to let Kurt get a bigger bed.

Finn nudged his mother's piles of yarn away as carefully as he could and propped his feet up on the table with a sigh. He had no idea how he could feel both smothered and lonely at the same time, but he thought he'd made up his mind what to do about it. When Kurt ducked his head down the stairs without a word, he just beckoned for him to come down.

"I'm sorry I didn't ask you about the recording," Kurt said. He came over and sat down, not next to him, but diagonal, on the other corner of the couch.

"No - no, it was okay. I'm glad you did. Kind of. I mean, I didn't ask you if I could at the pep assembly, either."

"You knew I would love it," Kurt pointed out.

"Yeah," he agreed. "But still. I could have asked. And I'm not upset. I just... Kurt, I've been thinking about what you said, about me having too much going on?"

Kurt nodded, watching his face carefully.

"I don't think I'm really helping anybody by trying to do as much as I am. Not me, for sure, but not you or Puck, either, or school, or Carl."  _Or Patrick,_  he didn't say. He could have reached for Kurt's hand, but it was a long way across to the other corner of the couch, and it would have been awkward to reach so far, so he just sat there. "I think I need to give something up."

Kurt nodded again, looking relieved. "I couldn't agree m-"

"I think I need to move back home."

Kurt's words died in his mouth, and he closed it, sitting up straight, his eyes flitting wildly across the coffee table full of yarn. "Oh."

"Kurt, we've been together for three months. That's not really very long at all, and I've got to wonder if it was a good idea for us to jump into things as fast as we did. I'm not saying I want to change anything, or stop - anything."

"No. I - I think I understand." Kurt looked like he might be trying to decide if he'd rather cry or yell, and in the meantime, Finn pressed his advantage.

"I haven't forgotten everything we said, at Christmas, about a year, or any of that. We - I still believe in this, in us. But I don't want it to feel this  _hard."_

Kurt's expression added bewildered to the mix, with a touch of resentful. "Finn, relationships  _are_  hard."

"You know what I mean," Finn said, but Kurt shook his head, standing up.

"I don't think you do. You've been telling me all along that you were willing to work for this. That it was worth it to you."

"It is!" he insisted. "That's what I'm trying to do. I'm trying to do what's best for me. To give you the best  _me_  I can."

"Well, what about what's best for us?" Now Kurt was on the edge of panic. When Finn reached for Kurt, he backed away.

Finn had to kick himself.  _Too late,_  he chided himself. "It's not just about us. You said you understood that, that you agreed with me."

"Well, that was before I knew you were trying to  _leave,"_  Kurt cried. "First Noah, then you? Now I'm not going to have either one of you."

"Kurt, this isn't  _about_  you."

The words slipped out before Finn could stop himself. Like a vise snapping shut, Kurt's face closed, and Finn got nothing but his lofty, superior glare before Kurt retreated up the stairs.

"Don't worry, Finn," he heard Kurt call back. "I won't force you to take care of me."

Finn wondered later if he should have gone after him, but at the time, it seemed pointless. He knew Kurt was just going to sit in his pile of hurt and lob it back at Finn a little at a time, like bitter spitballs. Instead, he went into Kurt's room and gathered up his things, packing them into his backpack. He didn't really need to do that; he still had a toothbrush at his own house, and clothes - or at least some t-shirts and a couple pairs of not-too-ripped underwear - but symbolically, maybe, it felt like the right thing to do. He was putting space in between them, or reclaiming his independence, or some shit like that. And maybe it was the wrong thing and maybe it was the right thing, but right now, it felt like the  _only_  thing.

He waited until he heard the front door open and close, and the Navigator drive away, before going upstairs. His mom and Burt stayed seated at the table, watching him out of the corner of their eyes as they drank their coffee, but Sarah went right up to him and tapped him on the chest with the flat of her hand.

"Dude," she said, her face furious. "Since when do you leave cake dishes in the  _basement?"_

He set the bag down against the wall and hugged her. "I won't be gone very long," he whispered. Whatever concerns he'd had earlier about embarrassing her were now completely overridden by his own guilt; she was just going to have to deal. "Or very far. I promise. I'm not leaving forever. Just... I need some space. Like Puck did."

Her words were almost completely muffled in his shirt. "Fuck you, Hudson."

Burt didn't say anything about her language, and Finn figured it wasn't his place, not with Burt sitting right there. He just held on to her. "I promise," he repeated.

His mom turned to face him, looking as conflicted as he felt. "Finn, are you sure about this?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry, I know it's probably really inconvenient for me to be there, at the other house, when you'd rather... not be, but..."

"I'll handle that. I'm just surprised, after all this effort you and Kurt and Puck have put into spending time together, that you would choose to be alone?"

"I'm not!" He let Sarah go; she immediately disappeared into the kitchen, with a perfect Puckerman flounce. "I'm not, really. I'm just a little maxed out on  _together_  right now - which, I know, is my fault."

"Just a choice." His mom stood and walked over, Burt's eyes watching her. "And I'm definitely not condemning yours. You're the one who knows what you need, and you get to choose it. That's a good thing."

Burt offered similar words, which should have felt good to hear. He even shook Finn's hand. "My son's overreacting," he said. "He does that. You do what's best for you, and it'll be okay. I'm gonna tell you the same thing I told Puck: you're welcome in this house, any time."

"Thanks." Finn held up his bag. "Is it okay if I take this over to the house now?"

His mom gave him the keys, which she never did, and hugged him and watched him walk back downstairs to the garage. The station wagon's engine was loud, but all he could hear in his ears were the words  _the house_  and  _this house_ , repeated over and over.  _Not "your home." Not "my home." Just a bunch of houses. Kurt's, mine, Carl's. Even Puck's place isn't really his._

Finn slowly crept through the neighborhood, driving far below the speed limit as he crossed Findlay back toward Cortlandt, feeling the distance stretch between the two houses to far more than a mile and a half.

Then he waited an hour before he called anyone, and it wasn't Kurt. It was Carl. He stretched out on his back on his bed, staring up at the sloping ceiling of his tiny bedroom. "Thanks for the texts."

"You're welcome. I meant them. You sounded -"

"I'll save Friday afternoon."  _And Wednesday. Possibly every night, if my boyfriend stays this mad at me._

Carl paused. "Finn, what's wrong?"

"I moved back - home," he said. The words tasted strange on his tongue. "I told Kurt I thought I was doing too much, and he agreed, and when I told him I wanted to go back to my house, he freaked out."

Listening to Carl sigh, long and slow, was like sticking a pin in himself and letting all the air out. Finn's eyelids slipped shut.

"That's a difficult decision to make," said Carl. "But if you're looking for support for your choices, I can offer that."

"Yeah?" He felt stupid, wanting to hear that so much, when his own mom and Burt had already basically said the same thing.

"Finn, yes. Setting boundaries for yourself, when you've committed to a set of complicated relationships, that's healthy." Carl sounded firm and confident. "It's not going to do anything but help you in the long run."

"Okay. Thanks. And, um..." He wasn't even sure how to ask this one. "Is Jesse okay? He seemed like he was being a good loser and all, but I wasn't..."

"Yes, Jesse's accustomed to rejection. It won't keep him from aggressively pursuing what he wants, though."

"Yeah. And he wants Rachel."

Carl laughed softly. "I - think he might be changing his tune about her. I'm not asking you to spy on them, but if you happen to hear anything about the status of their relationship, I would appreciate a heads-up."

"Sure. No problem."

"I'll contact you about Friday, Finn. I didn't suppose you'd mind combining celebrations for two important occasions, but I have a client on Wednesday."

Even in the midst of his funk, Finn felt the giddy wave of excitement wash over him.  _He remembered. God, I'm such an idiot, of course he would remember._ He swallowed. "Thank you, sir."

Finn had to look in the pantry for a box of that weird shelf-stable milk, because nobody had been shopping for groceries in weeks. There was Kraft dinner, though, and he sat in his dad's chair and ate two packages mixed with a can of tuna while he watched reruns of bad 80s sitcoms. He tried to ignore the stupid lump in his throat as he listened to the cheesy dialogue.  _Three guys in one house with a bunch of kids. Like anybody actually does that. What were the writers thinking?_

Kurt called him after dinner. He considered not answering, but he figured that would just be completely stupid, since they'd be seeing each other at school tomorrow anyway.

"Hi," he said.

"Finn... I'm really sorry for how I reacted." Kurt sounded ashamed. Finn didn't like that at all, and it spurred him to apologize in return.

"Baby, you had every right to be angry. I'm sorry I threw it at you like that, I was just feeling kind of freaked out already, and..." He set his fork down. "Are we okay?"

"Yes. We're okay." He heard Kurt sigh. "I miss you already, though."

_Yeah,_  Finn could have said, but he held back, not wanting to send mixed signals. "Maybe we need to... have a date? I could come over this week. Or you could come here. I could, um..." He eyed the half-eaten bowl of macaroni and cheese. "... get take-out."

Kurt laughed. "I'd love to have a date with you. And I'm sure Noah would cook for us, even if it was just the two of us."

Finn heard the front door open, and he stood, giving his mom a little wave as she entered. "I'll talk to you tomorrow. Thanks for calling."

"Was that Kurt?" she asked, looking sympathetic. He nodded, letting her hug him.

"I said something to him earlier about not wanting it to be hard. But... mom, it  _is_  hard." He looked at her hopefully. "Is it wrong to sometimes want a break from that?"

She shook her head. "When I think about what Puck has signed up for, coming this spring, with the baby... I don't think it's going to be easy for  _any_  of us. But I also don't think Burt's going anywhere." The smile on her face made him feel a little funny, but he smiled back. "Sometimes I can't believe we're even attempting this, it's so complicated."

"I know. But... it's what I want."

"Yeah?" She wiped his cheek with her thumb, presumably wiping off orange day-glo cheese. "Still?"

"Still," he nodded. "All of it, really. Kurt, and Puck, and... and Carl, and -" He paused. It was so tempting not to say anything, to let himself believe  _it's better not to make things more confusing._  But keeping things to himself was what had gotten him in trouble to begin with, and he wasn't going to keep doing that, not if he could help it. "There's another boy. In Columbus. I met him at the coffee house where Carl and I do our open mic."

He watched his mom's surprise, waited it out. "I - I didn't know."

"No, it's... it's not like that, he's not..." Finn shrugged, feeling his face heat up. "I don't know what it is, yet. He wasn't there on Saturday anyway. Maybe it's nothing. But I think he might... that he needs something. Something I can give him."

She blinked. "Oh, honey."

"I'm sorry if that's totally weird to hear," he added, but she shook her head.

"I want to hear it, even if it is. You know I never want you to feel like you have to keep things from me. And you  _know_  I understand about that."

Finn winced. "I know, I know, you told me you used to... do that. Just... I always thought of Dad as the only guy for you. It was hard enough to see you getting together with Burt. Thinking about you being with some other guy, and doing  _that,_  it's..." He stopped, watching her expression change. "What?"

"Finn, do you realize you're being more jealous about your  _mother's_  past relationships than you are about your own current ones?" Before he could even respond, she patted his shoulder, smiling fondly. "Anyway... who ever said it was another guy?"

"Another -  _mom?"_  He watched her walk into the kitchen. " _Mom!?"_

"You shouldn't jump to conclusions, honey," she called back. "Don't forget to wash the macaroni pan."

There was no way he wasn't going to follow up on that, but he knew a dismissal when he heard one. He cleaned up the kitchen, finished his homework and avoided her as long as he could. Before bed, though, he came to find her, propped up reading in her awful old red bathrobe.

"You're on the wrong side of the bed," he pointed out.

"Things do sometimes change, Finn." She set her book down, watching and waiting.

"You're really telling me that you were -" He eyed her back, feeling vaguely hurt. "With a  _girl,_  and you never said anything? Even after I told you I'm  _gay?_ "

"There are things about my past I haven't shared with you, honey. I imagine that will always be the case. You're never going to know about all of it. But I'm willing to tell you what seems appropriate. I expect no less from you."

"So..." He sank down on the edge of the bed. "Are you saying you don't want me to ask?"

"I'm saying I might not answer. Or might tell you part of the truth. Parents do that, you know."

He nodded. "Um... so are you... bisexual, or what?" It felt so strange to use that word in relation to his mother, but maybe not any stranger than it was to call this place  _home_  again.

"I've used that label before. And  _lesbian,_  for a while, but it doesn't seem to fit me very well." She raised an eyebrow. "About as well as  _gay_  does for you, maybe."

"What - do you mean because of Rachel? It's not exactly like that..." He thought about the way things had been with Britt and Santana, and he had to shrug. "Maybe it is. I don't know, it's confusing."

"It's whatever you want, Finn. You don't have to name the box you fit all your relationships into. Each one is unique. What I had with - my lover, all those years ago... it was very important to me." She smiled to herself. "She took very good care of me, at a time when I was particularly vulnerable. And she loved you very much."

"Me?" He'd thought he was done with feeling surprised. "She knew me? When?"

"When you were a baby, right after you were born, and for years afterwards, on and off. But it's hard being a single mother and living in two cities, and eventually we lost touch."

She took his hand and held it while he let that sink in. "Do you miss her?" he said eventually.

"Sometimes. It was a long time ago. I'm a different person now. I never went looking for that kind of relationship again, and I honestly don't know if I would want it now anyway."

Finn wasn't sure if she meant  _being with a girl_  or  _getting spanked_  or something else entirely, but he decided he'd had enough details for one night. "I'm going to bed."

"Oh - Finn, one more thing. We have movers coming tomorrow afternoon." She patted the mattress. "They're going to take away this old furniture. I ordered some new things."

"Oh." He didn't think he had it in him to deal with whatever his mom was talking about, so he just nodded. "I'll see you in the morning."

His bed was small, though no smaller than his space on Kurt's bed when the three of them were there. He appreciated being able to stay up and play video games before bed; he never did that when Kurt was around. It felt lonely, maybe, but no more lonely than he'd already felt being a visitor in Kurt's house. Sleep came slowly, though, and he woke up twice thinking about Puck and Kurt and Carl.

Waking up at dawn was definitely more lonely. It had been a while since Finn had dealt with his own morning erection. It wasn't such a big deal, he guessed, but he missed Kurt's voice whispering into his ear, or Puck's strong fingers. For a moment he considered calling one of them, but in the end, just imagining them doing those things was enough to take care of it.

He rode his bike to school. It was a little chilly for January, but he found a warm down vest in his closet which he was pretty sure Kurt would have vetoed on some fashion principle or another. Maybe he wasn't in a frame of mind to accept Kurt's help, but it was his wardrobe, wasn't it? He could wear what he wanted.

Puck appeared at his locker quickly enough that Finn guessed he'd been subtly not-waiting for him. He leaned his back against the wall, staring at the rest of the student body flowing by taking no notice of them. "You took your stuff from Kurt's room."

"Yeah." Finn slammed his locker. "I figured you'd understand."

"I guess? I mean, it's your house as much as it is Carole's. I think you have a right to be there."

"Maybe?" The conversation was making him jumpy. "Kurt and I talked about it last night. I think we're okay."

Puck turned his stare on Finn. "Really. You think so?"

"I don't know. Do we really have to talk about this here?" He pushed ahead of Puck without waiting for an answer. He wasn't sure why he was so annoyed all of a sudden, but it felt like it had something to do with what his mom had said last night, and something to do with sleeping alone, and - he wasn't going to figure it out before biology.

He saw Kurt, dressed in his Cheerios uniform, in the four classes they shared before Glee, but they didn't talk. This was normal; Kurt seldom talked to him at school. Their tradition of meeting together in the secret attic room before fifth period had been suspended ever since winter break, and they'd just never picked it up again.  _Because we were together every night,_  Finn thought, watching Mike and Matt crack each other up over lunch.  _Because we had no reason to sneak around at school anymore._

"What?" he said, realizing Quinn was talking to him.

"You're not bothered by that?" she said, looking annoyed. She tossed her chin at the table across the cafeteria, where Finn could see Rachel talking animatedly and Jesse laughing. He was grinning at her like an idiot.

"No, it's fine." It wasn't, exactly, but in the world of not-fine things that might be on Finn's mind these days, Jesse had quickly dropped from the top five.

He sat alone in Glee, watching Puck tickle Kurt's back with the tips of his shoes. Mr. Schue's announcement that they weren't going to be able to use the auditorium for the next week rankled far more than it might have on any other day, but Puck's heated suggestion that they torch the place really made him wince. It was a very clear reminder of what Puck wasn't getting.

Kurt approached him after rehearsal, but it wasn't about anything to do with Puck. It was, in fact, some completely pointless excuse to ask him questions about decorating Sarah's room. He stared at the swatch board with blank irritation.

"Kurt, I live in a closet," he said. "There's cowboy wallpaper on the walls." Kurt's mouth twisted, and Finn realized exactly what he'd said.  _Some closet._ He sighed, and pointed randomly. "But that one looks nice."

"Toile?" Kurt brightened a little. His smile was definitely flirty. "I always pegged you as a chinoiserie type."

Finn had to walk away then, before he started snapping.  _Puck is losing control, and you're trying to have conversations with me about fabric choices?_

It took him until he was spinning the combination on his bike lock before he got the clue as to what was happening. God, why hadn't he realized it before?  _This_  was Kurt losing control. It was exactly the way things had been between them earlier in the year, before they'd begun this part of their relationship - Kurt inappropriately flirting, Finn reacting with uncertainty. That wasn't what Kurt needed. Kurt needed Finn to step up and fix _this_  before Puck was going to get what  _he_ needed.

Finn rested his forehead on the frame of his bike, sighing heavily. He needed help. No, he needed more than help; he needed  _reinforcements._ And there might be one guy who could provide them.

He pulled out his phone and dialed a number he'd only ever dialed once before, and waited for the impersonal voice mail beep before leaving his message.

"Adam?" he said. "Uh... hey. It's Finn. I'm... I think we need to talk."

* * *

Kurt was not going to partake of the Sue Sylvester Master Cleanse, no matter how much her comment about having hips like a pear bothered him. He did, however, take Puck's arm after Glee, leaning in a little closer than he normally did at school.

"Do you think you could come over after school?" he asked.

Puck nodded right away, putting a concerned hand on his back. "Don't you have Cheerios practice?"

"They don't need me today; it's the girls, working on their pyramid. I don't think Coach Sylvester quite knows what to do with me or Mercedes, but it's not going to involve climbing or being climbed upon, not if she wants us to maintain any kind of vocal support."

"Yeah, well, you can tell me if I'm off base here, but I'm thinking you're not inviting me over to do any kind of climbing on you, either."

Kurt smiled. "Not at the moment, no. Though I reserve judgement about that later."

Puck didn't push. He just nodded again. "I'll follow you home."

His boyfriend really was very sweet. Kurt got a little lost in that, watching him in the rear view mirror as he drove. By the time he parked the Navigator in the garage, he was a little weepy. Puck let him wordlessly cling a little before taking his hand and leading him into the house. He tried to head toward the green couch, but Kurt shook his head and went for the stairs instead. Puck followed again, looking curious.

In the kitchen, Kurt stopped, frowning at the refrigerator. "I need a little help, and I honestly can't think of anyone who might know more than me about this... except you. Coach Sylvester's threatening to kick Mercedes off the Cheerios if she doesn't lose ten pounds."

Puck glowered at him. "Fucking bullshit."

"I know." Kurt wasn't going to go into detail about the fact that he'd pressured Mercedes into going along with it. He already didn't feel too good about doing that, and he didn't think he would like Puck's reaction upon hearing what he'd done. "She suggested I might need to lose a few pounds myself..."

"Which you  _don't,"_  Puck supplied, with emphasis.

"Which I don't, thank you. What I  _do_  need are... stealth lunches. Something I can eat on my own, and still appear to be surviving on peeled celery at school. That will keep the coach off my back." He looked hopefully at Puck. "Do you think you could help?"

"Mmmm." Puck was still glaring. "As long as you promise you won't turn into one of those girls who's always whining about how everything has too much fat in it and ends up eating nothing but processed crap."

"I promise I won't turn into any kind of a girl, Noah."

"You know what I mean." But Puck was already peering into the fridge, moving things aside and taking jars and containers out to set on the counter. "We're going to need to go shopping..."

Kurt sat at the counter and watched Puck mutter to himself under his breath for about ten minutes, rummaging through the pantry and scribbling a list on the back of what appeared to be his Spanish quiz. Kurt tried not to think about the red-marked D showing through the paper at the top of the quiz. He knew Puck didn't care about grades, and that no matter how bad he was doing he'd always managed to pass, which was as good as he'd ever cared to do in school.

When Puck's phone rang, he didn't bother to look at the display; he just put the phone up to his ear and continued arranging produce and packaged food into what looked like mighty creative groupings. "Yo," he said absently. Then he looked up at Kurt. "Hey. No, he's busy freaking out about Cheerios stuff; he doesn't have time to freak out about your shit, too."

Kurt had to laugh at that, because that was just what he was doing. He kissed Puck's cheek and watched him relax, smiling.

"Dude, what do you care if Carole sells her bedroom set?" Puck reached for a bowl, then a knife, grimacing, and began to slice peaches off the pit. The way he peeled the skin off each slice was a little unorthodox, but it seemed to work. "Really? Which pinball game? You totally need to ask that. If you don't, I will. Yeah, fuck you too." He snickered. "Totally a promise."

Kurt felt the pleasant tightness he always got in his chest when he watched Puck and Finn be best friends. The way he loved each of them, and the way they loved him, was so completely different from what they had together. It was so  _good_  to see them have that again. He tamped down the desire to beg Puck to invite Finn over and held his tongue.

"All right, I get that, but when you come right down to it, it's just a chair, right?" Puck handed the box of strawberries to Kurt, mouthing the word  _wash these?_  Kurt never had trouble taking orders from Puck in the kitchen; this was so clearly his domain. He watched Puck find what he was looking for in Kurt's cupboards without effort, and felt another twinge of want. Puck didn't live here, but he could. He  _could._

"Your dad's not haunting that chair. He's not in that goddamn urn either, or the picture." Kurt glanced over as Puck dropped the knife on the cutting board with a sudden laugh. "No fucking  _way._   _Carole?_ " He whistled. "Okay, she's edging Burt out for awesome. When was this?" He took the washed berries from Kurt and dumped them onto the cutting board, deftly divesting each of its greens and slicing it in half before adding it to the peaches. "That long ago, huh? Okay, I can see that. I was thinking maybe she was getting some lesbo action on the side while we were at soccer practice... what? Hey, relax, it apparently could have happened."

Kurt dried his hands on a towel before stepping in behind Puck, sliding his hands around his waist and resting his cheek on his warm, broad back. Puck went on cutting berries, the phone propped up by his shoulder, but now Kurt was close enough to hear Finn's part of the conversation. "... doesn't think she wants that any more," he was saying.

"Well, of course not, she's got Burt now." Puck said it with such certainty, as though there was no possibility for Carole to want more than one relationship. Kurt couldn't really see it himself, either, but he was too saturated in possibilities himself to eliminate it for her.

"Yeah. She said she's in love with him." Finn sounded a little awed.

Puck snorted. "No duh, genius."

"No, I know, but..." Finn sighed. "I don't know. I don't know why I'm freaking out about something that happened when I was a kid."

"Well, when you figure it out, you know where to find me. I know at least one guy who wants to get in your pants." He reached for the nonfat yogurt, wrinkling his nose at the nonfat part, no doubt. Then he opened a tupperware container, layering yogurt, fruit, more yogurt, more fruit. It was almost meditative, and Kurt found himself relaxing, watching him.  _My boyfriend's making me lunch,_  he thought, and smiled.

"Yeah, I think I'm gonna stay here tonight," Finn said. "Can you tell Kurt I love him?"

"Do you own fucking dirty work. Here." Puck fumbled the phone over his shoulder into Kurt's hands, and Kurt found himself listening to Finn's startled breathing.

"Hi," he said. "I - didn't mean to eavesdrop. I mean... I did. I did mean to do that."

"It's okay, baby." Kurt couldn't tell if this meant  _fine,_  as in Finn could handle it, or  _fine,_  Finn was actually fine. "Um... so." He laughed weakly. "I love you?"

"I love you too."  _Come home,_  his heart shouted into the phone. "I'll see you tomorrow." He hung up before asking Puck if he wanted to say anything more. Then he tossed the phone on the counter next to the beautiful yogurt parfait and burst into tears.

"Baby," Puck murmured, wrapping him up, and sighed.

"I missed him five minutes after he walked out the goddamn door," he sobbed. "What the hell is that? How codependent  _am_  I?"

Puck's hand stroked the nape of his neck. "Well, I don't even know, but I somehow think the rules are different when you're calling the guy  _sir."_

He sniffed. "We don't really do that."

"Do too." Puck kissed his wet cheek. "I've heard you do it. Don't tell me you don't feel that way about him."

Kurt hesitated. "Do - do you miss that? With him?"

Puck was clearly caught off guard, but he sighed, resting his head on Kurt's neck. "Yeah. Fuck, yeah. Kind of a lot. As much as I miss Adam. Maybe more."

Kurt tried to discard his tentativeness, because that wasn't going to help either of them here. His hands snuck down to Puck's arms, his fingers encircling Puck's wrists, and felt a little shiver inside at the sound of Puck's hitching breath. "I think we should go downstairs now."

Puck looked around himself at the mess, somewhat uneasily. "The kitchen -" he said.

"Noah," Kurt said, keeping his voice even, "go downstairs, take your pants off and kneel on my bed."

"- yeah, I can do that, yeah." Puck was already in motion, and Kurt watched him hurry toward the stairs with a sense of satisfaction.

They fell asleep afterwards for a little while, as they often did, but when Kurt woke, it still wasn't quite dinner time. He left Puck passed out on his bed while he showered quickly, dressed, and went out to the piano. He thought he might have a song that would say what he wanted to say, even if he couldn't manage ordinary words with Finn right now.

He'd worked out the first two verses when his phone broadcast the sound of Adam, sustaining that note in  _Come to Me, Bend to Me_ for an absurdly long time. "Noah's asleep," he announced, stretching his back from its position, hunched over the keyboard.

"Well, I get more of you, then. Everything okay?"

"Not really. Noah misses you and Finn. And the imaginary boy from the bar, I suppose."

"He's not exactly imaginary, honey. What's going on? You didn't mention any of this last night."

"I wasn't ready to talk about it. I don't think I'm ready now."

"Mmm." Adam didn't sound particularly convinced. "And you? Who do you miss?"

"You. And - Finn. And Noah. I'm sick of crying, though, I don't want to cry any more."

"Oh, honey, you haven't started to cry about this."

That was enough to push him over into tears, just thinking about it, what Adam had done for him. "I can't want that," he whispered. "There's no point in wanting what I can't have."

"I bet you could have that, if you asked for it. You gave Noah what he needed, didn't you?"

The paddle had done its job. Kurt nodded before realizing it was pointless. "Yes. I did."

"So why can't you have that too?"

Kurt was about to explain how Finn needed time and space and all kinds of dimensions he couldn't provide for him, but then he stopped, realizing what Adam meant. " _Noah?"_  he squeaked. "Noah can't - he doesn't -"

"But he did, once, didn't he?" Adam's voice was soothing. "I'm thinking it might not be your first choice, but... you could ask him."

Kurt didn't even know how to respond to  _Adam,_  suggesting that. "I think we'll have to call you back later. When he wakes up."

"It's not going to get any better, Kurt."

" _Later,"_  he gasped, and hung up, sitting there staring at his phone, shaking a little. Eventually he stood up, closing the lid on the spinnet.  _That's the end of music tonight._

When he went upstairs to clean up the kitchen, he found Carole, doing the last of the dishes. "Oh, you didn't have to do that," he said, but she shrugged, smiling at him.

"I thought it might be a good idea for me to give Finn some space. He's having a hard time with the idea of selling our old furniture, especially the recliner."

"Was it a special chair?"

She shook her head, turning off the water. "It wasn't, really. It was my grandparents' chair, and we just happen to have a picture of Christopher sitting in it with Finn on his lap. You might have seen the picture. It's the only one of Finn and Christopher together."

Kurt picked up a towel and began drying the dishes, even though they could just as well dry on the rack. "I overheard Noah and Finn talking about... someone. From your past." He smiled at her faint groan. "You told him."

"Yes, and he reacted exactly the way I'd expected him to react. And he wonders why I didn't tell him sooner." She leveled a finger at Kurt. "And you are  _not_  going to tell him you knew about her already. He'd feel even worse than he already does."

"Carole, you're not going to damage your relationship with Finn by talking about your past relationships. You're only going to make it stronger." Somehow things seemed so much more obvious and easy when it wasn't  _his_  relationship he was talking about. She seeemed to appreciate his words, though.

Morning was just as lonely the next day, but he called Puck to mitigate some of that.  "You and Finn," Puck said dubiously. "He says you're okay? But I'm not really seeing  _okay_  from either one of you. _"_

"I'm going to do something about that today," Kurt assured Puck, sounding more confident than he felt. "I had to give him some time, but I think . This thing about Carole's history, it's really getting to him."

"It just takes Finn a while to get used to new things. I'll see you at school, baby."

Mercedes' had her first weigh-in with Coach Sylvester. "How can I have  _gained_  weight?" she moaned. "I haven't eaten enough this week to feed my gerbil."

Kurt thought of his Noah-made parfait, but he kept his mouth shut.  Mercedes didn't need to hear about  _more_  tempting food. "I don't really understand it, myself. What are you going to do?"

"What else  _can_  I do?" He watched the futility dance across her face, and sighed, clasping her hand. "I'm gonna get Coach Sylvester's scale checked is what I'm gonna do. My body is not at fault here."

"You've got that right," he agreed. "I'm sorry to run, but I have to meet with Brad before lunch is over. I'm singing a song today. For Finn."

Mercedes was barely paying attention, but Kurt couldn't really blame her, considering how much stress she was under. "I'll see you in history, then."

She clearly wasn't the only one under stress. Finn actually approached Kurt in the hallway, calling his name. He looked completely distraught. Kurt did his best to keep his distance, but it wasn't easy, seeing Finn like that.

"Kurt - what's going on with my mother? This person… this  _woman._  How did they even meet each other?" He eyed Kurt. "How long have you known about this?"

Kurt grimaced. "Parent-teacher conference night. About a month ago. I always accompany my father to those conferences, to act as translator, but he had a long conversation with Mr. Schue, and Carole and I were left to our own devices. I think there might have been something in the punch? Anyway, trust me, it was good I was there, otherwise they would have been flirting with each other in front of the entire student body about weird 80s fashion or something. We got to talking, and… she told me. About her lover."

Finn shook his head. "It's impossible."

"Finn, when will you learn that nothing is impossible when it comes to love? I mean, haven't you noticed anything different recently about your mom? New clothes, makeup… has she started selling the furniture yet?"

"Uh, yeah. She just got rid of her old bedroom set, and she tried to get rid of my dad's chair, but I stopped her… what does that have to do with…" He swallowed, his words coming out hoarse. "… her  _lover?"_

"Finn, when your mother was our age, she didn't sit around waiting for love to bloom any more than we did."

"Kurt," he hissed, glancing around furtively.

"Well, it's true. Maybe she didn't know what she wanted, but – maybe she did? Anyway, that's all in the past. She knows what she wants now, which apparently is for us to be roommates with our parents cohabitating upstairs by midterms."

Finn's face hardened. "No way. She said I could make up my own mind about this. She wouldn't do that to me. That house is way too crowded with all of us there."

Now the urge Kurt was resisting was less loving. He resolved  _not_  to strangle Finn in the middle of the McKinley High School hallway, and restricted his touches to straightening Finn's shirt. "Give in to the inevitable, Finn," he snapped under his breath. "If you really need a distraction, you can help me redecorate Sarah's room. And don't sweat that old chair. I have a lovely chaise picked out."

Finn stepped back, holding up his hands. "Look, screw your swatches and your – your chez. Whatever. I like my house, I'm not moving, and she's not selling that damn chair."

It wasn't their finest moment by any stretch of the imagination. Kurt watched him storm away with a sense that they were speaking two different languages. When he found Brad waiting for him in the choir room to rehearse as they'd arranged, he could barely focus on the music.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, "I'm a little distracted."

"All right. Try this." Brad stood behind Kurt, pointing across the room at the empty risers. "Pick a focal point. It doesn't have to be anything in particular, just – something to emote to. Got it?"

Kurt was already picturing Finn's face, sitting there, watching him sing. "Got it."

"Okay. Keep your eyes on that spot as we run through the first verse."

It started to feel more possible after that. Kurt began to think about what he might say to introduce the song.  _It's not for me, or at least not just for me. It's for Finn, and for Noah, and for Burt and Carole and Sarah. It means different things for different people_

But when it came time to actually  _say_  the words, it came out completely different than it had in his head. He snarked at Rachel and Jesse, and even said something about Burt and Carole's relationship. Not that it was a surprise to most people in Glee, but it clearly threw Finn.

"What we all need right now," he said, trying for a cheery smile, but it felt forced, "is to explore the idea of a sense of place, and how if we… if we find that place within, we'll get that happy ending."

He'd made copies of the sheet music for everyone, because the words were important, and he hadn't wanted any of them to be overlooked:

_A chair is still a chair_   
_Even when there's no one sitting there_   
_But a chair is not a house_   
_And a house is not a home_   
_When there's no one there to hold you tight  
_ _And no one there you can kiss good night_

He kept his focal point on Finn, just as Brad had suggested, but Finn looked like he thought Kurt was singing all the wrong notes or something. Puck turned to him, and Kurt saw him mouth  _Are you okay?_  Finn didn't seem to know how to answer.

_A room is still a room_   
_Even when there's nothing there but gloom_   
_But a room is not a house_   
_And a house is not a home_   
_When the two of us are far apart  
_ _And one of us has a broken heart_

Kurt could imagine Finn singing the song to the picture of his father, the only concrete thing he had left to indicate they'd ever had a relationship at all. He wondered what things had really been like for Carole back then, when she'd been thrust into single motherhood after Christopher died so suddenly. It had sounded, from her stories, that she was already lovers with the woman before that happened, even before Finn was born.

_Now and then I call your name_   
_And suddenly your face appears_   
_But it's just a crazy game  
_ _And when it ends it ends in tears_

Mr. Schue didn't look like he was handling the lyrics any better than Finn was. There were several points at which he flinched, like it had been too close for comfort. Kurt wished suddenly for Toby. Puck had been talking to Shelby, and Finn had Carl, but Kurt didn't have anyone else aside from his parents to talk to about his crazy mixed-up life. It might be worth the two hour drive just to see him.

_So darlin', have a heart_   
_Don't let one mistake keep us apart_   
_Well, I'm not meant to live alone_   
_Turn this house into a home_   
_When I climb the stair and turn the key  
_ _Please be there… still in love with me._

The lyrics had always moved him, from the first time he'd heard the Dionne Warwick version, but Kurt was on the edge of tears by the time Brad played the final melancholy eleventh chord.  _More crying,_  he thought to himself with frustration.  _I really don't need any more of that._ _At this rate, maybe I will go to Noah and ask him to help._

* * *

Toby wondered, later, if he should have remembered the last time Will showed up by surprise at  _his_  house in Colorado, and taken it as a bad omen. Back then, Will had come to his apartment and waited on his stoop for Toby to come home.  The visit had been intense and passionate - and the next day, Will had vanished, leaving a wedding invitation on his pillow. That had heralded a tumultuous three years before they'd managed to resolve things between them. But Toby hadn't been thinking about any of that when he'd climbed into his car and aimed it toward Lima; he'd just been excited to give Will something nice, just as Will had done for Toby last week.  _A surprise._

He pulled into Starbucks to get his usual sugar free nonfat caramel latte for the road, giving Jon behind the counter a smile.

"A little late in the day for caffeine, isn't it, Toby?"

"I need it. I'm headin' up to Lima to surprise Will, and it was a  _long_  day at work."

Jon nodded, foaming the milk. "I have all respect for teachers, especially remembering what an obnoxious handful my friends and I were in high school. I bet he could use a break, too."

Toby sighed and leaned against counter. "Our little shit of a lead soloist is leaving us, and after Shelby designed a whole routine to showcase him at Regionals."

"Bad luck," he said sympathetically. "But I bet you'll figure it out. You're a genius."

"Thank you for your confidence." He watched Jon tip the shot of espresso into a cup, followed by the milk. "I have no choice, I'll have to make it work, it just sucks today."

"I bet a night with Will will help it suck slightly less." Jon contemplated that sentence as he handed Toby his coffee. "Or possibly slightly  _more,_  depending on your kinks."

Toby laughed out loud, enjoying the conspiratorial tone of the conversation. He still wasn't sure if it was Jon's resemblance to Colin, or simply the presence of another gay man in his new town, but he greatly appreciated his friendship. It was lonely in that great big house alone, without even his dog for company, since Annie was still staying with Colin in Denver. "I'll tell you all about it on Saturday."

"Please," Jon replied, handing his drink over. "I'm living vicariously through your sex life right now anyway, so I hope for my sake it's a good night for you."

"I promise, for your sake, I'll get off at least twice."

"You're terrible," Jon said with a grin. "And thank you."

"For what?"

Jon blushed bright red to the tips of his ears. "For not being weirded out about being the subject of my fantasies."

"I'm flattered," Toby said. He took several steps toward the door. As much as he was enjoying the banter with Jon, he really needed to get on the road if he was going to reach Lima at a decent hour. "It's nice knowin' I'm not too old to still catch the attention of baby gays."

"I'm not a baby gay,  _old man_."

Toby waggled a finger teasingly at Jon. "You better be careful who you're callin' old man, I might have to start getting my coffee someplace else."

Jon gasped in mock terror and clutched a hand to his chest. "The disgrace!"

"Behave," Toby warned. "I'll be back tomorrow to regale you with my exploits."

Jon nodded as Toby backed out of the door, holding his drink. "Drive carefully," he called.

Toby waved in thanks and climbed into the car. He set his cup in the cupholder, hit shuffle on his dance mix playlist, and headed off toward Lima, a genuine smile on his face for the first time all day. The two-and-a-half hour drive went quickly with no rush hour traffic, and it was still before ten when he pulled into his usual parking space.

He smelled a unfamiliar floral scent in the hallway outside the doorway to Will's house. A vague thought that Emma had changed her perfume drifted through his mind as he unlocked the door and let himself in.

There was a white duffel on the couch in the family room, a duffel that definitely wasn't Emma's. Toby moved slowly toward it, brushing its rough fabric with his fingers. In every memory he replayed later in his head, he kicked himself for what he did next.  _This should have been the moment you walked out,_ he would think,  _and went back to your car, and called Will and said, "So who's in your house, darlin'?"_  Instead, he unzipped the duffel, numbly sorting through the contents, the lacy brassiere, the condoms, before walking to the bedroom and opening the door.

The woman who sat up in bed was definitely not Emma. She was also definitely holding Will's hand.

_Ah,_  thought Toby, watching them scramble for clothes and explanations.  _I've lived this moment a dozen times before, when johns' wives or boyfriends came home early. I just never thought I'd see it in my own boyfriend's apartment. Stupid, really._

"Don't bother to get up," said Toby, holding up a hand. "I ain't stayin'."

"Toby, wait!" called Will. He sounded appropriately desperate.

_You said there was no one else,_  he could have said.  _You said there was nothing else to talk about. Which means this means nothing, or it means everything._ He could have rolled his eyes at himself, his very own self who'd said aloud, just a week ago,  _we've both always had other lovers; if you really want that, I'm not gonna tell you no._ He could tell himself a thousand times that was true, and it wouldn't stop the ache in his heart.

Toby drove home in a haze of anger, letting himself dwell on every moment in which Will had ever made him wait or wonder about the future of their relationship. He was glad for the latte, which kept him awake until he got home, but as soon as he walked through the door, he retrieved the bottle of single-malt from the top of the refrigerator and poured himself a double. He stared at his phone while he drank, the Scotch burning a hot trail down his throat and into his stomach. Five missed calls, five voicemails, and 15 texts, all from Will.  _Fuck you, William_ , he thought, and angrily powered his phone off.

He finished it off quickly and poured himself another. After that he lost track, but there wasn't much left in the bottle by the time he decided he needed to take a walk. He wasn't thinking really clearly beyond getting boots on his feet, but it wasn't too cold. He decided to walk to the only place he was reasonably sure he could find without stumbling into someone's field and getting lost.

By the time he reached the Starbucks, it was pretty clear it was colder outside than he'd thought it was. He was cold and shaking, and his fingers and toes were numb. There was just one car in the parking lot, the little rusting blue Volvo that Jon drove.

Jon caught sight of him through the front window as he was locking the door, and did a doubletake. Toby was pretty sure Jon wasn't happy to see him, but he was a little beyond caring at this point.

"Ohio is fuckin'  _stupid,"_  he whined, bumping his shoulder into the edge of the door as he stumbled, trying to keep his footing. "No sidewalks. Everything closes too early."

"It's one in the morning, Toby." He glanced around the parking lot before letting out a sigh and beckoning him in. "Come on. You're freezing. I take it your date didn't go so well?"

Toby glared at the meddling door. "Fuckin' disaster. I think Will and I need to stop trying to surprise each other. It never ends well."

"How much did you have to drink?"

"Does it matter? Enough to do the job. It was really good Scotch. I can admit the Scots do whiskey better than we do in Kentucky."

Jon pulled a chair out, the legs scraping on the floor in a way that hurt Toby's ears. "Sit," he ordered, and Toby flopped more than sat. "Stay here. Let me get you a coffee. It'll help the cold and the booze."

Toby stretched his legs out, his head back, staring at the flickering fluorescents between the ceiling tiles. "I'll tell you, I've been sneetered but good. Whatever was goin' through his head when he climbed in bed with that woman, I have no idea, but there's no way it had a lick to do with me, or this here ring on my finger."

"He was in bed with his ex-wife?" Jon asked from behind the espresso machine.

"No. No. It was a different bleach-blonde bitch. Will's got a type. I at least hope he knew her name." He heard Jon's gasp over the whir of the milk steaming and winced. "Sorry, darlin', but I've always been somethin' of a nasty drunk. I take after my daddy like that. I can leave if it's makin' you uncomfortable."

"No," Jon insisted, coming out from behind the counter with a steaming cup. "Here. None of that sugar free nonfat shit; you need the sugar  _and_  the caffeine. I didn't ditch the pastries yet, either, if you want something."

He held the cup close to his face, letting the heat rising up off the surface warm his cold nose, and breathed deep. "You really are a darlin'."

Jon's face was red, but whether it was from the cold or the coffee or something else, Toby couldn't tell. He crouched down in front of Toby, keeping an eye on the cup and taking it out of Toby's hands when he was done. "I don't want you to spill it."

Toby snorted. "I ain't that drunk."

Jon just smirked at him. "You're a liar. You are  _exactly_  that drunk."

"You should finish up here and take me home so I don't have to walk back in my drunken state."

Jon stood, and Toby watched anticipation or regret or  _something_  flit across Jon's face. "I wasn't going to let you walk home alone," he said softly, and then turned to face the counter. "I'll be done in a few minutes. You want to tell me what happened?"

"Nothing more to tell." Even in the midst of his self-righteous anger, Toby didn't like talking trash about Will. "We always worked things out eventually. 'Cept for that time we didn't, but... here we are, after all. I don't know."

"I'm sorry," Jon said as he wrapped plates of pastries in plastic and set them back in the display case. "I don't know what else to say, really."

"Yep." Toby sighed. "I know just how you feel."

He watched Jon move around behind the counter, making short work of wiping counters and taking apart the espresso machine for cleaning. His profile, as he swept, reminded Toby even more poignantly of Colin, and it didn't occur to him until Jon caught his eye that he was staring.

"Ready to go," he said, propping the broom in the office hallway. "Can I get you to drink a cup of water now, in case you pass out on the way home?"

"I'm not gonna pass out, it's only a mile up the road," Toby argued, but he took the paper cup Jon held out to him anyway and downed it in several long gulps. "You're gonna make me float away on all this liquid."

"Well, if you can float then I won't have to haul your old man's ass into my car."

Toby gave him a slap on the shoulder. "I'm not old. I'm seasoned, is all. Now, please, take me home."

"Teasing! I was  _teasing_!" Jon insisted, and Toby tried his best to laugh as he followed Jon out the front door.

"It's okay, darlin', I know. I just look at all the kids I teach, or my young friend Kurt, and I think that I've lived two lifetimes in the time they've been on this earth. I wonder if I was  _ever_  as free as they seem to be. I just had to grow up so fast, is all."

Jon was silent all the way to Toby's house, but he kept an eye on him as he drove. He pulled into his long gravel driveway and put the car in park, watching Toby struggle with the seat belt. "Let me," he murmured, reaching over Toby, leaning against him as he helped him undo the latch. "Can you get out on your own?"

"I keep telling you, I'm not that drunk," Toby insisted, hauling himself out of the car. He had to hold onto the door a little longer than he'd planned to, but once the trees stopped weaving in front of his eyes, he was okay. He searched his pockets for his key for several long confusing moments before he remembered that he didn't lock the door to his house anymore, and pushed the door to the mud room open in a huff.

Jon was climbing out of the driver's seat, standing by the car, watching him with obvious concern. "You're sure you're okay?"

"I'm  _fine_." He stepped out of his boots and flipped the light on so that Jon didn't have to fumble his way inside in the dark. When he realized he was alone in the family room, he had to carefully retrace his steps and lean out the door, peering at Jon beside his car. "Well, ain't you comin' inside?"

Jon looked startled, but he took a few steps toward the house. "I - I suppose?"

"Come on in here. I ain't gonna bite."

Jon looked like he thought exactly the opposite, so Toby led him through the dining room into the kitchen. It was an automatic thing to put the kettle on, but he pulled the box of instant cocoa out of the cabinet. "We don't need any more caffeine, either of us, and dear  _God_ , Puck would curse me up one side and down the other for using  _that instant shit_ , but I don't have the coordination  _or_  the brain power to deal with that fancy-ass Belgian chocolate or whatever it is that he does. It's so  _good_ , though. Maybe someday you can come over when he's here and try it..."

"Toby." Jon put out a hand. "Stop. You don't have to do any of this. It's late, and you - I don't know where you sleep, but you should get out of those wet jeans, and - oh, fuck, I didn't mean it to sound like that. Just - I should go."

Toby set the box on the counter and reached over, cupped his hand around the back of Jon's neck, and pulled him into a hard hug. "It's okay, sugar. It didn't sound like anything." He knew he needed to release Jon go before the hug grew awkward, but he couldn't will his arms to let go. He sniffled, and realized with a start that he was crying. "Fuck," he whispered into Jon's hair, into the coffee-and-spice smell of him.

"Oh, hey," Jon said unhappily. His hand came up to hold Toby's own head, fingers brushing through the too-short haircut Toby had gotten two days ago from his new stylist. "You're really  _not_  okay, are you?"

"No. No, I'm really not. Shit, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have bothered you at work. You shouldn't have come back here. I don't know what I'm doing." He rested the side of his head on Jon's shoulder. "It never used to  _hurt_  like this."

"I don't know what to do with you like this, Toby. You're always smiling, every day, when you come in." Jon's fingers crept down to his cheek, subtle and feather-light. "I count on it. This isn't like you."

"Well, now you've met my angry drunk and vicious queen. The only reason you don't get to see him more often is because of the lattes you keep feedin' me."

"I guess I'll just have to keep making good lattes, then. Do you - do you want to go to bed? You must be exhausted after all that driving, and everything."

Toby closed his eyes, nodding slowly. "Yes. Bed. That'd be a good idea."

He didn't move, though, nor did Jon, until the harsh whistle of the tea kettle intruded into the peaceful warmth of Jon's arms around him.

"I forgot about the kettle," Toby whispered.

Jon shifted. "C'mon, let me at least help you get settled. Where's bed?"

Toby made it up the first flight of stairs, but he got confused when he saw the second one. He waved it irritably away, as though he could banish the staircase with his ire. "Too many floors," he muttered.

"Oh, come on, you can do it," Jon urged.

Toby shook his head. "No, no, I'm down the hall here. The three boys stay upstairs."

"Okay, show me the way then, so I don't get lost. I didn't know you had three boys?"

It took Toby a minute to follow Jon's thought. "Oh. No. I don't have kids. Well. I kind of do, I'm Uncle Toby. But the boys, they're three of Will's students. I'm somethin' of friend and mentor and fairy godfather for Kurt, and where Kurt goes his boys go too. It's kinda complicated."

"Sounds like," Jon said, stepping back to let Toby open the door at the end of the hall that led into the master suite. "Do you want help?"

"Nah. I think I'm okay, but maybe you could find me some ibuprofen? They're in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom."

"I thought you weren't that drunk?" Jon teased, his voice muffled in the bathroom.

Toby fumbled with the button on his jeans, and it all suddenly felt too difficult. He couldn't manage to get both his hands working to undo button  _and_ zipper, and by the time Jon emerged with his hands cupped around a trio of pills and one of the tiny Dixie cups of water, Toby was just standing there, shirt off and hands waving in frustration. "Help," he said plaintively.

Jon shook his head, laughing, and sighed as he put his hands on Toby's hips. "I'm going to get in  _trooo-_ uble for this," he warned, undoing the button and the zipper with efficiency. He gave Toby's jeans a sharp yank, tugging them down to his thighs, and crouched down, helping pull the wet cuffs off his feet.

Jon's hands were warm and soft, and Toby  _knew_  his reaction was because of a combination of the liquor and his still-simmering anger and hurt over Will. Even though he knew, it didn't keep him from wanting Jon's hands all over him. "Thank you, darlin'," he said softly. "You've been too good to me tonight."

Jon looked up from where he was kneeling, still, fighting with the unforgiving cotton of Toby's wet socks. "You don't need to thank me."

Toby swallowed around unexpected sadness. "I do," he insisted. "Nobody ever does this for me. I'm always takin' care of everybody else. All the strangers, my Will, Colin. You look like him, Colin. He  _told_  me I was making a mistake, that Will would never be able to give me what I wanted. Maybe I should have listened."

"Shhh." Jon pushed himself up to standing, eye to eye with Toby. "Just stop. It's okay. You're okay."

Toby blinked. Even Jon's eyes were like Colin's, sparkling green and gold and unexpectedly intense. He rubbed his thumb lightly along Jon's jaw and fought the urge  _hard_  to follow his thumb with his lips.  _No,_  he tried to convince himself.  _Will doesn't deserve that, no matter what he may have done tonight._ But the angry and frustrated part of his brain, the part that was used to having boys whenever he wanted them, kept on yelling.  _You've been feeling caged since you moved here; the world isn't going to end if you do this._

"What about us?" he asked Jon. "Are  _we_  okay?"

"Toby, there is no  _we,_ " he said, shaking his head. "You're a great guy - trust me, I like you a lot. Maybe more than is appropriate, given the circumstances." He took in Toby's bare chest with a regretful sigh. "I can be your friend, and I can help you like this when you're in a bad space, but I'm pretty sure you're not offering what I'm wanting."

"Try me." Toby barely moved, just leaned a little more into Jon's body like a challenge. Jon sucked in a breath, then let out a quiet groan at the pressure of Toby's legs against his.

"Please don't," he begged. "God, you feel good, and I don't - I don't think I want to say no to you."

"So don't." Toby pressed his cheek against Jon's, whispered soft and hot into his ear. "Don't say no." He kissed Jon's jaw gently. "You're such a sweetheart. Let me make you feel good."

"Yeah," Jon muttered, "yeah, you can do that."

It was almost effortless after that, the familiar dance of seducing a new boy, stripping him down to his component parts and lavishing attention on each one. Johns all needed the same thing, after all, in the end, and this wasn't so different from that.

Until afterward, when they lay breathless and sweaty in the middle of his bed, and Toby realized he was  _in his own house,_  and he couldn't exactly get up and leave. He watched Jon's eyes slip closed, wondering if he could justify going to sleep in the guest bedroom. Finally he scooted to the very edge of the bed, glancing at his dark phone once before setting it aside and drifting into a fitful sleep.

He woke to the rich smell of coffee tickling his nose. "Jesus fucking  _Christ_ , what the hell  _time_  is it?" he groaned, and rolled over to face away from the window. Jon was half-dressed, curled around a tray with two mugs of brew.

"Early," Jon said softly. "I know  _you_  don't make the fancy coffee that's in your pantry because you buy your daily fix from me. But  _someone_  has good taste." He handed Toby three more ibuprofen and a glass of water, and set one of the still-steaming mugs on the bedside table. "It's not exactly a caramel latte, but I think you'll like it anyway."

Toby blinked awake slowly. He  _really_  wanted his coffee, but he didn't quite trust his limbs to work properly yet, so he just stayed half-wrapped in blankets and watched Jon. His hair was damp and he smelled like Toby's body wash. It was vaguely disconcerting.

"Isn't that my t-shirt?"

Jon glanced down, looking sheepish. "Yeah, well, mine was a little... we used it to clean up last night, after you, um." He rubbed his neck. "I can pick a different one, if you want?"

"No." Toby shook his head. It was one of the black ones he owned like ten of, because they were good for wearing to teach in. "It's fine. Do you have to work this morning?"

"I'm closing again tonight, but I should get going soon. I have tai kwan do at eleven, and the usual Saturday stuff to do if I want clean clothes and food for the week." He backed off the bed, leaving the tray. Toby noticed there were eggs, too, cooked harder than he usually liked them. "I'll - see you? I mean, I could call you, but I'm guessing you'll show up at the Starbucks eventually."

Toby tried, but he couldn't meet Jon's eyes. "Yeah," he said softly. "I'll see you."

He waited until Jon's footsteps had faded down the stairs, until the front door clicked closed and he heard the revving of Jon's engine in the driveway. Only then did he rest his head back on the pillow and close his eyes. "Well,  _fuck_ , Tobias, what the  _hell_  were you thinking?"

The rest of the morning passed on autopilot, sweeping the first floor and shoveling the remaining snow from the front walk and taking the laundry down to the basement. It was warm enough by one o'clock that he was able to sit outside on the patio by the kitchen, bringing the cushions out from the mud room to recline on one of the Adirondack chairs and eat his lunch. It almost felt like home, when he had time to stop and breathe a little while. Even the litany of tasks he still needed to do to improve the house didn't feel like a burden. It was nice to have something depending on  _him_  that wasn't living or breathing.

Shelby's car was so quiet, he didn't hear it approaching until it crunched up the gravel drive and stopped beside the side door. She climbed out, giving him a curious look as she took off her gloves. "You're looking a little worse for wear today."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"I didn't ask if you wanted to talk about it," she said, sitting carefully on the edge of the other chair. "I merely commented that you,  _darlin'_ , sort of look like shit."

"Fuck you, Shelby. Did you know Jesse was leaving? Did you  _make_  him leave? Because I swear to God, if this is all your fault . . ." he trailed off, even the most benign of threats dying on his tongue. He just didn't have the energy for Shelby  _or_ Jesse's theatrics today.

"What do you think?" she shot back. "Would I really set my own kids up for failure like that? Trust me, this has been as much a fiasco for me as it has for anybody. I got a call this morning from the guy who's housing Jesse in Lima, his uncle, explaining that Jesse's  _dating_  Rachel." She brushed her hair back from her face in exasperation.

"Yes," Toby ground out. "I heard. Did he  _really_  transfer to be with her? Or is there somethin' else goin' on?"

Shelby sighed heavily, and Toby saw something he thought was sadness cross her face. "It's just - it's complicated, and I'm hoping it doesn't all backfire on me, but all I need is a chance."

"A chance for what?" Toby wasn't sure if it was the last vestiges of his hangover, or the lack of sleep, but something was making his brain sluggish. He wasn't following Shelby at all.

"A chance to get closer to my daughter."

He squinted at her, trying to make the statement come into focus. "Your daughter? Since when do you have a -"

"Since sixteen years ago." Her eyes were trained on something far away, something that probably wasn't anywhere near Westfield Center, Ohio. "And a son, two years before that, but I get to see him all the time. Or I did, until last week."

"Jesse," Toby sighed. He turned Shelby's words over and over in his head, her indignation about Rachel, the fact that she knew the girl by name. "Oh. And Rachel."

"Gold star for Mr. Grey," Shelby said bitterly. "It's a complete clusterfuck."

"Join the club," Toby grumbled. "Maybe I should make t-shirts, now that it's a club of two instead of my own private pity party."

"Trouble in paradise already? I thought your mystery man was loving the fact that you moved here for him."

"Already?" He snorted. "Still.  _Always._  Just as many crossed wires now as there were when we were kids. I swear, Shelby, sometimes I don't know why I bother."

"Well, that's an easy one." Her lips twisted into a smile. "You're desperately in love with him."

"Fuck," he whispered, and was completely appalled at himself when he started to cry. It wasn't something Toby did, not even in private, let alone in front of others, and especially not others as unpredictably caustic as Shelby Corcoran. But she simply moved to sit beside him, putting her arms around him and holding him tight while he fell apart.

"You'll work it out," she said, sounding completely certain, and handed him a tissue from her purse. He wiped his eyes and took a deep breath of the chilly January air.

"That's the problem. There ain't nothin' to work out. This is my boyfriend bein' himself, and me, bein' lonely and isolated and kickin' myself for not expecting it. I screwed up, Shel. I'm not proud of it, but I was hurt and lonely, and I may have hurt a very lovely boy in the process, not to mention what my boyfriend is going to think. Never  _mind_  that he had a  _woman_  in his bed when I got there."

"Yeah, well. Didn't you tell me he was married until a month or so ago? It sounds like he's a little confused about what he needs." She patted his shoulder briskly. "But you're can't figure it out from here. You should take one of your road trips to see him, get this all straightened out. We have too much work to do now, to fix the numbers for Regionals. I can't have my choreographer distracted."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brad and Sarah have advice for Kurt. Jon has advice for Toby. Carole has advice for Finn. Nobody listens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't you wish you could just throw them in a room and make them fix everything? Quoting from 1.16 Home.
> 
> -amy

Kurt groaned when he saw the piece Brad propped up on the music stand. "More arpeggios?"

"I'm not trying to make you hate them, seriously," Brad assured him. "And it's only these measures here. Oh, and again at the end. Okay, most of the piece. But it's Prokofiev. You can't hate the guy who wrote Peter and the Wolf, can you?"

He couldn't help leveling a glare at Brad as he leafed through the prelude. "I can hate the guy who made me play them."

"Mmmm." Brad didn't seem to be offended. "Been one of those weekends?"

"You have no idea." Kurt placed his hands on the keyboard and took a deep breath before sight-reading the first twenty bars. The mental distraction was more than welcome. He didn't even mind Brad positioning his hands and working through the fingering.

"Well, if it counts for anything," said Brad, "I think your solo in Glee last week was the best I've heard from you all year."

Kurt scowled at the g-minor chord. "I sometimes wonder why I bother. Mr. Schue wants us to express our feelings through music, but it seems like my feelings are destined to end at the choral risers. Like, nobody takes me seriously. Then I go to Cheerios practice and it's all  _stifle your feelings, project being happy!"_  He leaned his elbow on the piano, head in hand. "I'm sorry. I'm really not usually this complainy."

"I asked," Brad said gently, resting a hand on Kurt's arm for a moment. "And just because no one seems to be listening, that doesn't mean you should stop talking. Maybe they're not ready to hear you yet. You never know when the right moment's going to occur."

The Schubert was much easier and more closely reflected Kurt's mood. "Keep working on the Debussy, too," Brad said. "It was written to mimic Clementi's practice scales, about his daughter's annoyance with having to do them every morning. If you think about the story behind the piece, it'll stay interesting." He touched the keyboard. "And if you're willing, maybe next week we could do a little deconstruction of the piece you played in California."

Kurt swallowed, his fingers automatically forming the opening bars of the piece he'd written for Adam. "I don't know."

"I think it's really good, Kurt. You don't need to worry about that. I just think, if you're going to be writing original music, it would help to look closely at what you've already made. The more you understand about  _why_  you did it that way, the more control you'll have over what you create next." His smile was encouraging. "You can bet Gaga and I will be running ideas past you after our next conversation. We're Skyping this Thursday afternoon."

Kurt smiled back. "I think that's amazing. How many high school accompanists get to arrange music for an international pop star?"

Brad's eyes twinkled. "How many high school students get to be in relationships with performers with albums on the Billboard 100?"

"At least two," Kurt said, and Brad laughed.

Andi still hadn't made it home by the time Laurie put dinner on the table, but neither she nor Brad seemed concerned. "Her commute to and from Findlay is pretty long," Laurie told Kurt, placing the bowl of broccoli in front of him. "Sometimes we don't see her until the kids are in bed."

He nodded, watching Cory take the skin off her chicken, then eat the skin. "I imagine you miss her."

"We've had a lot of years to get used to each other," said Brad, at the same time that Laurie nodded and said, "Yes." They glanced at one another, chuckling. "Okay," Brad added, "yes, I miss her too, but somebody's got to earn a living wage, and it's not this part-time high school choir accompanist. I'm grateful she has a job in her field at all."

Kurt grimaced. "Sometimes I wonder what I'm setting myself up for, planning for a career in music performance. I told Finn and Noah, I don't even know if I should expect to have kids if I'm not going to be around to help raise them."

"Well," said Laurie, shrugging, "it's another point in favor of multi-adult families. It's not much more expensive for five to live together than four. We get two incomes and one caregiver. Eventually we'll trade roles, so no one feels stuck in their role. It works."

"Are  _you_  a daddy?" Duncan asked Kurt through a mouthful of broccoli, with his customary three-almost-four-year-old abruptness.

"I - no." But Kurt couldn't help think about Puck. "My boyfriend is going to be a daddy, though. A papa. His baby's due in May."

Cory nodded solemnly. "He drew her."

"In his picture," Duncan added. "The one he made of his family."

Kurt was surprised they remembered that drawing, but he couldn't account for what would be important to three-year-olds. "Noah told me you made a drawing of your family, too. Maybe after dinner you could show it to me."

"They can't stop talking about Puck," Laurie told Kurt, smiling. "Do you suppose he'd babysit again this weekend? We were hoping to make it to the premiere of  _Edge of Darkness_  on Friday night."

"I - I think so?" Kurt thought about it. "I think he likes kids. He practically raised his own sister, and she's four years younger than he is."

While Brad and the kids cleared the table, he sent Puck a text, without much hope that he'd respond.  _You're a rock star in the Ellis household. Laurie wants to know if you'll come babysit again on Friday._

But he actually received a return text a half hour later, while Duncan was playing Kurt "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" on the piano, and Cory was doing a very thorough job of explaining how ants carry big things from one place to another, using LEGO to demonstrate.  _Fuck yeah,_  he'd typed.  _I need a little income. But Finn's got his birthday thing with Carl. You got plans?_

Kurt felt an unhappy prickle. No matter how comfortable he felt in theory with his boyfriends being with other people, it was never easy to consider being alone while Finn or Puck were with someone else. Somehow, oddly, that didn't happen when they were with each other.  _No plans,_ he replied.  _I could make some with Mercedes._

_Or babysit with me._

Kurt stared at the screen. He heard Duncan asking  _Are you a daddy?_  and squirmed a little.  _Okay,_  he typed slowly.  _I could do that._

"Noah said he can babysit Friday," he told Laurie while she wrangled Duncan into his pajamas. Her smile was grateful.

"We really can't afford a regular babysitter," she said. "But it's mighty nice to have one on occasion. I'll call him and set it up."

On his way home, he called Finn. It was a little depressing to realize he didn't know what Finn was doing, what his plans were. Not that he was beholden to Kurt in any way, or that Kurt should expect Finn to inform him of his activities at any given moment. But the truth was, they had actually been spending almost all their time outside of school together before Finn met Carl. At least he could be grateful Rachel wasn't scheduling his time anymore.

Kurt shook his head irritably.  _I don't want to be the jealous boyfriend._

"Finn," he said, after he heard the voice mail tone, "you said something about wanting to have a date together, just you and me? I was wondering if you might want to have dinner on Tuesday. I haven't asked Noah if he'll cook, but I thought I'd see if you were free, first. I'll be home tonight, but I have early Cheerios practice before school, so if you think you can make it, please call." He could hear himself stretching out the message, hoping Finn might break into the message with his own call, but the longer he waited, the more depressed he felt. He sighed. "I love you."

Sarah was sitting on the green couch when he walked through the garage into the basement, writing something in a composition book. "Kurt," she said, without looking up, "how big would your perfect bedroom be?"

He deposited his bag on the couch beside her, leaning over the edge to look, but she pulled the notebook away. "Big enough to hold a king-sized bed," he said, "and my desk and dressing table, but not really much bigger than that? I mean, the size of the closet is more important than the bedroom. What's this for?"

"School project. I'm trying to figure out what's really in the spaces we call  _home._ "

The word was jarring, and Kurt took a step back. "What do you mean?"

Sarah stretched her skinny legs, emerging from under her tiered navy skirt. Her socks had pink and purple elephants on them. "Like, we live where we have to live, but there are lots of places that feel like home that aren't our homes? Parks and libraries and other people's houses and stuff. I want to know what's the same about those things."

"The unifying aspects of the concept of home." Kurt came around the edge of the couch and sat down next to Sarah. As soon as he was seated, she snuggled up against him without seeming to think about it. It felt a little strange, but so nice. "I sang a song about that in Glee this week."

"I know. I mean, I heard you practicing." She tapped her composition book on her knees. "But it seems like that song was more about how home is a person, no matter where you are. I get that, too. I'm more thinking that there's something about the spaces  _without_  people in them that make them special." She tipped her head back to look up at Kurt. "Like, if you didn't have anybody else, if you couldn't depend on anybody in particular being there... what would your perfect home have in it?"

The thought was almost too depressing to contemplate, but he tried to separate his own personal angst from Sarah's question, taking a deep breath to focus. "People seem to hang out in the kitchen a lot, more than they do in the family room. I'd rather have a big kitchen. Oh, but a quiet place to do music. Maybe a soundproofed room, where it wouldn't disturb anyone - assuming there was anyone." He smiled apologetically at Sarah. "My own bathroom."

"Amen to that," she said fervently, saying it like  _ah-main._  "And no offense taken. It's a lot easier now that Finn's not here all the time."

Kurt blinked several times and resolved not to cry. "Yeah, I suppose it is."

Sarah chewed on the end of her pencil. "Wouldn't it be good to have another soundproofed room? I mean, for those things you guys like to do?"

"Um -" Kurt wondered for a brief, frantic moment what kind of a story he should attempt to invent to explain the sounds Sarah must have heard through the doors of their shared bathroom, but she was already rolling her eyes.

"I'm not dumb. I know by now how it works with you guys, and Finn. And Adam, too, I bet." She paused. "Actually, I haven't met him, so I suppose I don't know how it works with him, but I can make some guesses..."

He felt his face flaming. "Sarah... I'm not going to have this conversation with you. You're  _eleven."_

"Yeah, so?" Her curious stare bored into him and made him squirm. "You're telling me when you were eleven you didn't wonder about any of this stuff?"

" _No,"_ Kurt said emphatically. "I'm telling you I was barely thinking about it  _last_  year."

She gave a disdainful snort. "Well, I'm totally not built that way. I want to know stuff, I go find out. You'd better get used to it. Noah always answered my questions, even the really weird stuff. And I'm not saying I want to  _do_  any of it. I just want to  _know."_

Kurt felt himself huddling closer to Sarah, and she put an arm around him, hugging him tighter.

"I guess... I guess I was too afraid to ask," he said. "Always. I was too afraid of what it all meant, why I wanted it, to bring it up. Until Finn made it okay."

"You weren't scared with him?" she asked.

"No." He thought about it. "I mean, sometimes, maybe a little, but it never felt scary. It was so new to him - this idea about being with a boy, at all, I helped make that okay for him? And he never made me feel weird or bad for wanting to try things."

She nodded complacently, playing with his sleeve. "What about with Noah?"

Kurt smiled. "It's hard to believe he's the same boy who was shoving me into lockers in September. Noah... since things started with us, he made it clear he wanted me to take care of him. And that made it simple. I just did it. It wasn't scary, because he wanted it so much." He had to swallow on the lump in his throat when he thought about Noah, begging for what Kurt wanted so much to give.

"Yeah." Sarah sounded satisfied. "He's so much better with you guys."

"Adam, too," he said. "You were right. He needs Adam, maybe even more than he needs us."

"No way," she said firmly. "I mean, he's very cool, I'm not saying he's not. But he's got what he  _needs._ " She nudged the coffee table with her toe. "Finn's just got to stop being a dork about it and  _do_  it."

"It feels more complicated now," he protested. "It's not Finn's fault, or Noah's. Nobody's really getting all of what they need. We're just doing the best we can."

She shrugged. "I guess."

That sounded more like a grumpy pre-teen girl than Sarah usually did, and Kurt smiled again. "So you're not... wanting to do any of this? What we do?"

"You mean the sex stuff?" She cocked her head. "Or the stuff you might want the soundproofing for?"

"God," he squeaked, and she grinned, relenting.

"Nah. I figure I've got plenty of time to be boy-crazy. Or girl-crazy, whatever. There're too many other things to do that are way more interesting." Her expression sobered. "Finn made me promise I wouldn't do it unless I was in love."

That startled him all over again. "Finn talked to you about this?"

"Not really. I think he just had a bad day and wanted to vent." She interlaced their fingers together. "But I would tell you, if if I decided I wanted to, with somebody else. Okay?"

"You'd tell me?" Kurt was touched, and he squeezed her hand. "Thank you."

"Hey, you're my brother."

 _And to Sarah, that means something._  He nodded understanding. "Noah's going to come help me babysit on Friday night for Brad and Andi and Laurie's kids. Maybe you should come along."

She wrinkled her nose. "I barely wanted to  _be_  a kid, much less intentionally hang out with more of them. I'll pass."

"I miss spending time with you and Noah and Finn," Kurt said. He hadn't realized it until that moment how many days it had been since they'd done that. "It's so much harder with everyone in different places. I'm really glad you're here."

"I'm really glad I'm here too," Sarah agreed. "Well, there's always Wednesday."

"Wednesday?"

"Yeah, Noah's making the birthday cake?" She gave him a funny look. "You didn't know about that? For Adam?"

Now Kurt was really confused. "He's making him a cake? How -?"

"He's going to mail it to him. Boy, you really haven't been talking to him if you didn't know about the cake. Unless it was a secret or something..." Sarah stopped as Kurt stifled his sniffles on the back of his hand.

"Sorry," he muttered, "I just - I miss him. And Finn, and Adam. Even my dad's gone all the time. Everybody seems too busy to do anything, and we're all adding  _more_  things, and I can't make it be  _okay."_  The last word came out in a whine, but Sarah didn't seem annoyed. She just snuggled closer.

"It sucks," she agreed. "But it'll get better."

Kurt sighed. "You think so?"

"I'm sure," she said, and she sounded so certain, it was hard not to believe her.

* * *

Toby was actually early for morning studio on Monday. He chuckled ruefully to himself as he flicked the lights on in the studio, set his coffee on the unused piano in the corner, and dropped his bag to the floor. It would probably be the first and last time he'd be even close to on time for the rest of the school year.

He changed into his jazz shoes and did a few stretches, and got started marking out a combination he'd been itching to try. He was humming the accompaniment under his breath, weighing the merits of  _en dehors_  versus  _en dedans_  pirouettes when Chandra ran into the room.

"Is it true?" she asked, her voice shaky.

 _Fuck._ "You heard about Jesse."

Chandra stared at her phone and then held it up to him. "The bastard didn't even tell me in person. He sent a freaking  _text_. We've been dance partners for three years, I kind of thought he owed me the courtesy to tell me he was  _leaving school_." She frowned at Toby. "Wait. When did  _you_  find out?"

"Friday." Toby sighed, feeling the sudden weight of not just Jesse's defection but the mess with Will and his own poor judgement, all the unanswered calls and messages on his phone. He couldn't even make himself walk into Jon's Starbucks that morning; his coffee was from Angel Falls instead.

Toby ran a hand through his hair and dropped ungracefully to the floor. "I wish I knew what to say."

"To me?" Chandra asked.

"To you, to the rest of the kids, to . . .  _everyone_." Will, Jon, even Kurt when he'd called to ask questions about choreography and talk about his California trip and the Cheerios. It all just felt so far away.

"Do you know why he left? Because I'm not a mean person, but I've  _seen_  Rachel Berry and the New Directions, and I can't believe Jesse would leave us for  _them_. Not when he's lead soloist here."

"I just can't get a read on that boy," Toby mused as he worked a little more of the combination. "But he is a scheming little rat." He wasn't about to betray Shelby's confidence, but he was a good enough actor to make Chandra believe he was as clueless as she was.

Chandra giggled. "Scheming doesn't even  _begin_  to describe Jesse _._  Have you heard about last year, what he did to Aural Intensity at Sectionals?"

Toby shook his head as he hummed and planned out a transition. "Not sure I wanna know. Jesse's gone, now, and we're gonna have to make do." He stopped moving and held his hand out to Chandra. "You ready to be our lead dancer, sugar?"

Chandra nodded with conviction. "Of course."

"Good, then come here and dance with me. Let's forget our troubles, shall we?"

By the time the final bell rang, Toby was feeling the effects of his early morning and the lingering tendrils of his weekend hangover. He slid into his car with one single thought in his head.  _Coffee._  He needed more coffee.

And he needed to man up and face Jon.

He was unexpectedly nervous when he swung his car into the Starbucks lot fifteen minutes later, and he opened and closed his door three times before finally hauling himself out into the parking lot.

Jon was laughing with two women at the front counter when he entered. When he saw Toby, his smile softened, but he didn't engage with him until Toby approached the register.

"Didn't think I'd see you today," he said, moving automatically to grab a venti cup.

There were a million things Toby knew he  _could_  have said, but he needed to jump right in or else he was never going to get the words out. "I was a right horse's ass. I owe you an apology. You didn't deserve my bein' so cold."

Jon's left eyebrow went up. "Cold? I'd say you were pretty warm." He smirked, turning away from the counter. " _Hot,_  even."

Toby smiled despite himself. "I just feel bad. You were really sweet, and I was a mess, and I shouldn't have blown you off the next morning."

Jon's right eyebrow joined the left. "If memory serves, you did that the night before."

Toby snorted. "Yeah, I set myself up for that. Are we . . ." he trailed off and watched Jon for a minute, working to fix his coffee. "Are we okay?"

Jon didn't respond for several long moments, swirling the spoon in the crema. Then he snapped a lid onto the cup and sighed quietly. "I don't know if we should really talk about this here, but... yeah. I think we're okay." He gave Toby a wistful glance. "It's not like I had any expectations."

"I know." Toby ran his thumb along the edge of the counter. "I didn't either. But you've been a friend when I needed one and I shouldn't have taken advantage.  _Or_  treated you like that. So I'm sorry."

Jon held a hand out across the counter. Toby took it, and he shook it solemnly. "Apology accepted."

"Thank you." Relief that Toby didn't even know he'd been seeking rolled off his shoulders.

"But Toby?" Jon spoke hesitantly.

"Yeah?"

"I know I'm the  _last_  person who should be giving romantic advice, but you  _really_  need to talk to Will. I can tell that you love him, and I doubt he'd have hung around all these years if he didn't love you, too. So seriously, figure your shit out before you hurt someone in a way that can't be fixed by a simple apology."

He shook his head. "I ain't got nothin' to say to that man. He made his choices."

But Jon's words stayed with him as he drove home. Even the coffee did nothing to warm the chill inside him. He wasn't looking forward to the conversation he knew would have to happen. He'd turned his phone off on his way into Akron that morning, and he hadn't turned it on since, because he knew there would be more voice mails from Will.

 _Will's always had the upper hand in our relationship,_  he thought as he navigated the twists and turns in the gravel road leading to his driveway.  _And I'm a damn pushover, because I'll give in to him every time. I can't talk to him until I know for sure what I'm going to do._

He pulled to a stop... behind Will's wreck of a car.

"Shit," he muttered, shaking his head. "Damn you, William."

Toby gathered his bag and his still-steaming coffee, kicking the car door closed behind him. He started up the walk, juggling his belongings and his keys and stopping on a dime when he caught a shadow in his peripheral vision.

Will, sitting on the porch steps the way he used to in Denver, shivering.

"The fuckin' door's open, Will," he called crossly.

"I didn't want to go in before I talked to you." Will took a few hesitant steps toward him, his hands in his pockets. "I mean, I wasn't even sure I'd be welcome."

Toby sighed. "You've always been welcome, William," he said wearily. He managed to hike his bag up on his shoulder and shuffle his coffee into his left hand so he could open the door with his right. Will looked like he wanted to help, but didn't dare.

"I had to explain. You - what you saw, that wasn't -" He stopped, looking completely miserable. "Nothing  _happened._  I didn't even invite April to stay, she just..."

"It's always somethin' with you, Will. Your parents, Terri. The baby." Will blanched. It was a low blow and Toby knew it, but he'd never claimed to fight fair. "Always some reason why you can't commit to me. I moved here  _for you_. Are we gonna do this for real, or are we walkin' away? Because I don't think I can bear another night like Friday." He stopped in the doorway, facing out, blocking Will from coming any further. "I love you, Will. I've loved you forever, but we can't keep doin' this to each other. It just ain't right."

Will slammed his hand against the door frame. "Don't play the innocent, Toby," he spat. "Who was it, after you left my place? Some anonymous boy in the back room of a club? Don't forget, I know you just as well as you know me. You think I couldn't tell you've been itching to step out?"

"I wasn't-" Toby started, but he choked on the lie. He  _had_  been antsy and short-tempered, and had blamed it on the move and the sudden expectation of monogamy and the long hours getting his feet under him at work. No matter how ill-advised the events of Friday night had been, Toby couldn't deny that a certain restlessness under his skin had been calmed by Jon's presence in his bed. He dropped his head. "Fuck."

Will surged forward, into Toby's space. "Who was he?" Will demanded, twisting a fist in the front of Toby's jacket. "Did you even make it up the stairs? Did you fuck him right here in the living room?"

Toby stepped backwards, trying to extricate himself from Will's grip. "Don't you dare judge me, Will. You don't have the right."

"I have every right," Will roared. "I'm your fiancé, or don't  _these_  mean anything?" He grabbed Toby's hand, holding it up to display the ring alongside his own. "I didn't lay a  _hand_  on April. She needed a friend and I wasn't going to tell her no."

Toby gritted his teeth. "So, tell me, what about Emma? Were you going to tell  _her_  no?"

"Emma's situation is completely different and you know it. You told me it was okay, that I should help her if I could."

"You're the biggest hypocrite, Will Schuester!" And dear  _god_ , nothing got to Toby the way fighting with Will did. He tried to control his breathing and maintain some space between them, feeling his body respond in the face of their conflict. "Look. You drove all the way out here, and I don't want to make it a total waste. If you think we can talk like human beings, I'd invite you in. But don't think for one  _minute_  that I'm okay with what happened."

Will planted his feet in the doorway and crossed his arms over his chest. "You never answered me," he said, glancing around the living room. "Did you have anyone, the other night?"

"Well, he ain't here  _now."_  Toby sighed, dropping his bag to the mudroom floor. He stared unhappily at the coffee in his hand, which was likely only lukewarm by now. Will's eyes widened.

"The kid at the  _coffeehouse?"_  he exclaimed, looking hurt. "Toby, he can't be more than twenty!"

"He's twenty-three, for the record. It wasn't something I planned to do. He helped me out of a jam, and things . . . progressed."

"Uh huh." Will frowned. "I hope you were safe, at least."

"As safe as we ever are," Toby said. He could feel his righteous anger draining away in the face of his own guilt, leaving behind a numb exhaustion. "Look... I've been trying to re-choreograph every goddamn number without Jesse, and I'm plumb tuckered out. Can we sit down?"

Will hovered in the doorway for a few seconds before running a hand over his face. He shook his head silently and backed out onto the porch. "No, thanks," he said, his voice cold and distant. "I got what I came for."

Toby stood there in the middle of the mud room, coat half off and bag dangling from his arm, trying to figure out what had just happened.

By the time Will's death trap on wheels had vanished down the driveway, he'd given up on making it any further into his house. He just sat down right where he was on the floor, holding his cold coffee, and burst into tears.

* * *

Finn arrived at the Hummel house to discover Burt putting on his coat. He was wearing a green button-down shirt and had ditched his ball cap, and smiled when he saw Finn. "Hey, long time no see. How's your week going?"

"Fine." Finn could have said something about it only having been three days, but he'd kind of missed the whole bunch of them, too, so he didn't feel like he really had a right to be picky about details. He nodded at Burt's attire. "My mom mentioned something about you guys going on a date?"

Burt gave him a funny look. "Didn't Kurt tell you the plans?"

He closed the door slowly behind him. "We talked on the phone. We're having dinner."

"With us," Burt nodded. "At Breadstix. My treat."

Finn opened his mouth, then closed it again. "Can you... just a sec. Is Kurt downstairs?"

He found Kurt tying a scarf around his neck. He guessed his feelings were showing, because when Kurt saw him, his hands dropped to his side, the scarf slipping to the carpet.

"Finn," he said, "I can explain."

"We're going out on a  _double date_  with  _our parents?"_  Finn hissed. Kurt's eyes closed.

"It... didn't sound as bad as that in my head."

"Kurt, I thought this was supposed to be for  _us."_  He watched the guilt and unease pass over Kurt's face, and tried to step in closer, but Kurt backed away, and he stopped where he was. "What's going on?"

"It was supposed to be for us. But I was at Brad's, talking to you on the phone, and I just... I realized how much I missed everybody. All of us, together." His eyes pleaded with Finn to understand, but it was hard to swallow when Kurt wasn't letting him close enough to touch him. "I told your mom, and she invited us along, and... I couldn't say no."

"Yes," Finn snapped. " _Yes,_  you could have." He held up his hands. "Whatever. I'm not going to argue with you about this."

But he couldn't suppress the argument in his head as he sat on the green couch, while Kurt finished getting ready.  _You're keeping me far enough away that I can't help you handle this. I guess I deserve it, but it doesn't mean I'm going to be happy about the results. Don't you know I miss everybody too?_

Kurt walked out of the bedroom, looking amazing, and Finn didn't even think he could tell him that. He just walked out to the driveway and climbed into the back seat of his mom's car, waiting for the other three to join him.

His mom was first. She glanced into the back and sighed. "Finn, tell me you're not going to pout all evening."

 _Tell me you're not cockblocking me,_  he almost said, but then Burt opened the passenger door, and Finn just crossed his arms, glaring at his mom in the rear view mirror.

"Kurt said he missed time for all of us together," she began.

"All of us  _aren't_  together," he cut in. "And Kurt's not going to get what he needs at Breadstix."

Burt looked just confused enough that Finn wanted to explain, but the expression on his mom's face made him hold his tongue.

"One dinner," she said firmly. "It's not going to hurt anything."

"Yeah? You don't think it's going to look strange for me and  _Kurt_  to be seen eating dinner together? We're not friends at school. I thought we were supposed to be keeping a low profile."

His mom actually  _smiled._ "Finn, Burt and I are dating. That's no secret. And you're our kids. This can look as ordinary as you want it to look."

 _I don't want it to look like we're going out as the kids of our parents who are dating!_  he wanted to growl at her. Then Kurt climbed into the back seat, and they all fell silent.

Halfway to Breadstix, Kurt reached out and rested his hand, palm up, on Finn's knee. Finn could take it for what it was: an apology, partly for what he'd turned this night into, and partly for not being able to handle being alone with Finn. He took Kurt's hand, holding it firmly, and felt him sigh. He would have risked pulling Kurt against him if they hadn't been slated to sit in public together for the next hour and a half. Even so, Kurt cast him an excited, hopeful look, which really didn't make Finn any more positive about how dinner was going to go.  _This Kurt is just as unpredictable as Puck is._

Kurt immediately ordered a virgin cocktail and held it up, tapping it for silence. Finn tried desperately to disappear behind his Coke as Kurt rambled on in a faux-formal speech. Their parents were smiling at him indulgently.

"... so let me raise my Shirley Temple to our new little family," he concluded. They clinked glasses.

"We're not a family," Finn muttered without looking up, chewing on his straw.

"Finn," his mom protested.

"Not without Puck," he added. "Or Sarah. Jeez, didn't you even notice they were gone?"

"It's cool," Burt said softly. "You're right. We're short two family members. Doesn't mean your mom and I can't enjoy each other's company right now. Or you guys." His eyes narrowed at Finn, even as he smiled easily at him. "Just enjoy dinner. I mean, I'm buying, right?"

Finn tried not to roll his eyes, but he nodded.

"How's basketball practice going? I heard you had a winning streak recently?"

"Yeah." He avoided Kurt's gaze and tried not to think about Carl.  _Okay, yeah, my discipline's improved._ "I actually like football better."

"Yeah? Why's that?"

"Uh -" He glanced at his mother, who apparently wasn't thinking about where this might be going, and swallowed. "I actually miss... getting hit."

Kurt let out a nervous giggle. "Pure boyish insanity," he said, his voice shaky.

"No," said Burt. "It's not. I totally get that. I used to love the feeling of getting my clock cleaned and then popping back up. Kind of reminded me of being alive."

Finn glanced back and forth from his mom, who was practically frozen in contemplative confusion, to Kurt, who was filling the silence with pointless commentary about his mom's outfit. Burt was still grinning at Finn.

"I sell tires to one of the assistant coaches of the Browns," he said. "I could probably get tickets if you wanted to go."

Finn blinked and sat up in his seat. "Dude, that'd be awesome. I've never been to an NFL game live before. You really think we could go?"

Burt nodded. "Might make a good birthday present for you? You and me and Puck?"

"Wow." He nibbled on the coarse, stale end of a breadstick. "You know, for a place called Breadstix, these things really suck."

Burt and his mom cracked up, but Kurt just looked uncomfortable. Finn slid a hand under the table and rested it on Kurt's knee, just as Kurt had done with him, and Kurt waited for over a minute before reciprocating.  _I get it,_  Finn wanted to tell him.  _I really, really get it._

But it wasn't until Kurt went to the restroom that Burt leaned in and said, "What's up with Kurt? He's not having much fun, is he?"

Finn held his breath, watching his mom for cues. She bit her lip.

"Kurt's acting out because he's not getting enough time alone with Finn," she said. "Because Puck's not getting enough time alone with either of them." Her expression toward Finn was sympathetic. "And, honey? You're not doing much better."

"I know," he moaned. "I'm sorry. My hands are - um. I mean, I'm kind of stuck here. It's up to Kurt, and he's pushing me away every chance he gets."

Burt just looked mystified. "I don't understand."

"You want me to send you to your room when you get home? Honestly, I don't think it's going to help much." She nudged Finn under the table with her feet. "I'm not your authority anymore."

Finn winced, feeling his face go red. "I know. He's... he's busy. Until Friday. He's got something planned for Friday."

She nodded. "Can't you at least take care of Puck?"

His automatic response was  _we don't do that anymore,_ but he paused and thought it over. "I think we've been avoiding dealing with that. Because things were weird, and neither of us want it to go back to being weird. I've been leaving it up to Adam and Kurt. Adam's handling it."

His mom looked reproachful. "From California?"

"Is somebody going to tell me what you're talking about?" Burt said plaintively.

Kurt sat back down next to Finn, not quite close enough for their legs to brush under the table. "What are we talking about?" he said.

Burt sighed. "I have no idea."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kurt's new piano pieces:  
> Prokoviev prelude op. 12, no. 7: <http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q4hUK8aZjXM>  
> Schubert impromptu op 90, no. 4: <http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nuhje4kXKR4>


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Puck has dinner with an unexpected guest. Kurt brats to his father and leaves two voice mails. Puck helps out Mercedes. Kurt learns about Jesse and has a plan. Finn threatens to flush his dad's ashes, takes an unexpected trip to Columbus, and has an epiphany.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While some of the scenes from this chapter are based on scenes in the show, the dialogue has been tweaked to make it fit the events of the Donutverse. You might be surprised to note how much of it is the same, though. 
> 
> This is the big pivotal moment. Enjoy! 
> 
> -amy

Puck's number one response, when asked why he almost never answered his phone, had always been, "Because I don't have to. It's my fucking phone." The alternative was not to carry one, and it made him a little jumpy for Sarah not to have any way to get in touch with him. Sometimes he answered Kurt's calls and texts, but once he was sure Kurt wouldn't be mad at him, he felt free to ignore them until he was ready to talk or text back.

Right now, Puck was ignoring Finn's calls. He'd mostly been ignoring them all week, and he wasn't thinking too hard about why, beyond response number one. Finn had been so busy, after all, so Puck hadn't felt too bad about doing it. He peered at the display every now and then as he made his way along the highway toward Akron, wondering if he should at least listen to the voice mails, but in the end, he just threw his phone on the seat beside him and sighed. The whole point of living alone was that he didn't have to be accountable to anyone but himself. Wasn't it?

Driving to Akron was a good excuse, at least. He could have insisted his dad come to Lima again, but he figured it wasn't his role here to be a complete asshole. His truck could limp the distance, maybe. And maybe he was looking forward to another chance to sit and talk with his dad. Maybe the last time hadn't been nearly as painful as he'd expected. Maybe it was nice to think he might have a real dad, somewhere under that dipshit who'd bailed on them a decade ago.

The roads were bad enough that he was driving under the speed limit, and he pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant on Darrow where his dad had suggested they meet fifteen minutes late. He didn't see his dad's truck anywhere. It was a blue, slightly newer model of the Dodge Dakota his dad had left at the Puckerman house. Puck wondered if he should call his dad to make sure he hadn't already arrived and left the restaurant again, but in the end decided just to head inside and wait. It was just too damn snowy outside to sit in his truck and freeze his ass off.

He made it through two cups of tea and a bowl of tomato basil bisque (too much cream, not enough basil) before he was willing to entertain the idea that his dad had stood him up. By this point there was no fucking way he was going to call him. If his dad had walked in through that door at that moment, he would have punched him in the fucking nose, and then stood up and walked out. Puck watched the door anxiously for another several minutes, hoping he might have the opportunity to do just that, but the only person who walked in was Shelby Corcoran.

She was alone, but she still made a thorough check around herself twice to be sure she wasn't being watched before approaching him. "Noah," she said, and then stopped, her face softening.

"Fuck you," he snapped, and she slid into the booth across from him, unperturbed.

"Does that mean you're not going to tell me why you're in Akron on a school night?" she said gently. He was pretty sure he'd never heard that tone from her before, and he wasn't sure he liked it much.  _Nice_  and  _Shelby_  didn't go all that well together. Puck sighed.

"My dad." He turned his teacup around and around in his fingers, holding the handle in two fingers, then switching it to the other hand, back and forth. Her eyes were sure to hold pity, so he didn't look at them. "He asked if I could come out to see him this time, and there was a restaurant he said was organic, and..." He flicked his fingers forward hard enough to make the cup travel a few inches across the countertop, and grimaced.

"He's an idiot." She said it just as gently, but Puck saw the flash in her eyes.

"Knew that," he agreed. "In my mind, actually, he'd been upgraded from soulless prick to idiot, but I think this might drop him back down to prick status."

Shelby snickered and picked up the menu. "Well, you might as well eat before you get back on the road, at least. This place is worth the drive from Akron, and I'm not an easy sell on restaurants."

"The bisque was okay," he conceded grudgingly.

"At least let me stick around and assist in reaming your dad a new one if he dares set foot in here without a good excuse." She waited with such obvious anticipation that Puck had to smile.

His dad never did show up, but Puck decided he wasn't going to let it ruin his night. Shelby didn't make him talk, seeming content to sit across from him in companionable silence. It actually didn't feel weird.

"You ever end up talking to Jesse?" he asked, after they'd ordered. She sighed.

"He's a complicated kid. I don't have much authority over him, not after growing up as his Aunt Shelby. At best, I can be his hard-ass teacher - and now I'm not even that anymore. But it turns out he was ready to listen to reason, thanks to his uncle... telling him some unfortunate truths. I think he and I are on the same page again, at least."

Puck watched her carefully, but her expression wasn't giving away anything. She remained cagy, even if she was being nice. Somehow that made him relax a little. "And what page is that, exactly?"

She gave him a wan smile. "You really expect me to give away all my secrets to someone in my rival show choir?"

"Not all of them," he countered. "Just the juicy ones."

That made her laugh. "Well, I hate to disappoint you, but you'll have to work a little harder for this girl's secrets."

"Fair enough." He picked up the cumin smoked turkey wrap the waitress set in front of him and took a bite, chewing in silence for another minute. "I'd say trade a secret for a secret, but I already think you don't trust me."

Shelby looked startled. "Why...? I mean, okay, maybe I didn't at first." She sat forward, leaning toward him across the table. "You've got to admit, I didn't have any reason to. Not at first. I thought you were trying to blackmail me."

"And now?"

She hesitated, then said, slowly, "I... don't think that anymore. I don't think I quite get your motivation, but that's your business."

"Maybe I can enlighten you. If you wanna know. As closely as I can figure it out myself." He tapped his plate with a finger. "Trust me, sometimes even I don't know why I do stuff."

"Yeah, I hate to say, that doesn't change when you get older." Shelby steepled her fingers in front of her face, resting them on her lips. "Okay. If we can agree to stay away from... the things you do, with Dr. Howell? And to keep it between us? I think I can handle a little truth-for-truth."

"You know I can't keep stuff from my guys," he said. She shrugged.

"I think you've told me they're worth trusting. If I had anybody to share with, I suppose I'd be asking you for the same consideration."

He finished the last bite of sandwich. "Nobody worth sharing with?"

"Oh, lots of people worth sharing with. None of them want to do the things I want to do with them."

"Cryptic." Puck waited, but Shelby didn't say anything more. "Okay. There was one thing I was wondering about. You said Jesse's your kid, yours and Davis'?" She nodded warily. "But Davis told me Carl and Bebe had a daughter, not a son."

"Shit," she breathed, and shook her head in increasing consternation. "I - Noah, I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but... I really can't talk about that. Specifically. I  _can't._  And I can't tell you why, either."

"It's okay," he said quickly, trying to calm her obvious freak-out. "I was just wondering. It's not really important. We can talk about something else."

Shelby sat there, staring at the table, looking like he'd slapped her, and he didn't think; he just reached across the table and took her hand. Her breath caught, then went on, just a tiny hiccup. Puck had no idea if she was going to yell at him about being inappropriate, but he figured he could take a little heat, because this was about being a human being, and didn't imply one goddamn other thing.

"Lemme try again," he offered, letting her hand go. "Where'd you learn to cook?"

He watched her collect herself. "My brother-in-law is a chef in New York City. My sister - she's the one who raised Jesse - I spent some time with them after I got pregnant."

"They're the ones who raised Jesse?" She nodded. "How old were you then?"

"Seventeen." She straightened her shoulders, poking at her salad. "It was the right choice. I wasn't going to waste my career on being a teenage mother."

"Yeah, you said. Sorry if I don't buy it."

Her lips tightened, but she didn't glare at him. "You're opening yourself up to reciprocal judgment, you know."

"Yeah. Big effing deal. Your face has guilt written all over it."

Shelby stabbed a big forkful of salad and brandished it at him. "Understand, I was about to graduate. This wasn't going to help my chances at success. It  _was_  the best choice. I didn't say I felt good about it." She raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you've never done something you feel bad about doing?"

He thought about it while she ate her salad. "I don't know if you want to hear about it," he said finally.

"Keep it as PG as you can," she said, shrugging.

"My... boyfriend. The guy who's... he's in charge of me."  _Maybe. Was. Could be again._  He left the semantics behind and plowed forward. "I kind of had sex with his girlfriend and got her pregnant."

Her eyes got big. "I'd say that qualifies as something to feel bad about."

Puck grimaced, running a hand over the back of his neck. "I freaked out about that for a long time before telling him, and even then I could only do it when Kurt told me to."

"Kurt," she repeated. "Your... other Top?"

"He wasn't then. I mean, neither was Finn, but..." He stopped as he saw her face go white. "Uh, too much?"

"Finn." The name was a whisper. She said it again, louder. "Finn is the boyfriend you cheated on?"

"No, we weren't going out then. It got pretty effing complicated, though, with the baby." It was hard to talk about it, even now, long after they'd resolved the fight. "I started having these dreams about her. Like, every night. But when I brought it up with Finn, he said - well, basically what you said. That I was too young, too irresponsible. That I couldn't raise a kid on my own." He glanced up at her, watching him with an unreadable expression. "Which, yeah, he's right. I can't. But I still couldn't let her go."

"God, Noah," she muttered. "This conversation is giving me heart palpitations, and not in a good way." She gestured impatiently. "Go on. What did... Finn do when you told him?"

"He beat the crap out of me."

"He -  _what?"_  She sounded appalled. "You can't do that to your  _sub."_

"It was more complicated than that. He, like, set this limit? But I pushed it, because I thought he didn't get it, what she meant to me." Puck could feel himself choking up. "Which is really stupid, because he thought the baby was  _his,_  originally, and he was all excited. And fuck, if anyone would be an awesome dad, it's Finn." He paused. "Sorry. My language sucks. Kurt's dad's trying to get me to fix it."

"I think I can handle it." Shelby fell silent as the waitress brought the bill and cleared their table. She put a hand on it, watching him. "Would it feel weird if I picked this up?"

"No." He waggled his eyebrows at her. "Unless you're thinking this is a date or something."

" _No,"_  she said firmly. "I was thinking more about the inequity in our incomes. You can cook next time."

He put on his jacket and walked with her to the door, but she paused before they headed out into the parking lot. "Are you going to call your dad? If you do, you might not want to do it while you're driving."

"I don't think I will. My - the other guy I'm seeing, he's busy tonight, but I'll see if I can get through to him anyway. Leave a message, at least." He grinned. "He was on TV this afternoon, but I can't talk about that."

She laughed. "Fair enough. We can both have off-limits areas." She hesitated one more moment, then offered, "I don't really hug."

"Fuck it," he said, and hugged her anyway.

* * *

Kurt found the following text messages waiting for him when he took his phone out of his pocket. It hadn't seemed appropriate to bring it out during dinner with Finn and his parents.

_1 text - Adam (private)  
6:39 pm: On the plane back to LA tonight, but call me anyway and leave a message. I'll text when I land._

_1 text - Noah Puckerman  
8:13 pm: My dad stood me up, so fuck him. Had dinner with shelby. Roads suck but I'll go slow._

Kurt growled under his breath. He'd never have given Aaron Puckerman another chance. Although he wasn't going to tell Puck not to see him, he was resisting an urge to reply with  _I told you so._

He took his foul mood with him into Sarah's room, walking straight over to the paint swatches taped up on the wall and pulling them off one at a time. His dad poked his head through the door. "Hey. Finally choose one?"

"No, they're all wrong."

"Well, they all look like grey to me."

Kurt wheeled around, not looking at his dad as he brushed past him. "Maybe if they were different colored sports uniforms, you'd work harder to try to tell them apart."

"Oh, come on, Kurt, don't pretend to take the football thing personally. This isn't about Finn at all."

"Isn't it?" Kurt sat down at his dressing table, staring at his own red eyes and frown wrinkles in the mirror. "I just want you to appreciate how hard it is for me to watch you bonding with him when he'll barely talk to me."

"Kurt, don't give me that. I saw you guys holding hands under the table. Finn's not brushing you off, he's trying to establish his own boundaries. You can't blame him for that." His dad knelt down beside him. "Look. You're my son; I love you. And I am sympathetic to all your complicated stuff, but we have a deal here: I don't try to change you, you don't try to change me. You are my  _son._  A little guy talk with your boyfriend isn't going to change that."

_Guy talk?_  Kurt wanted to snap, but even he could tell whatever drama he wanted to stir up about that would be of his own making. His dad loved him, even if he hadn't loved going to  _Riverdance_  for three years in a row. He avoided his dad's sympathetic gaze. "Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I can't handle being in a relationship like this."

His dad gave him a tight smile. "Your mom's been dead eight years. Believe me, I've asked myself the same question more than once over the past three months." He stood up, heading for the door, then turned around again, looking determined. "Why'd you start seeing Puck, anyway? Was it to make Finn happy? Because I can see how you might have done that, to start with."

"Can you go now?" Kurt could feel the tears lurking just under the surface. "I'm a half hour behind on my moisturizing routine, and I have to get up early."

He left the swatches on Sarah's table, passing through the adjoining bathroom to his own room and closing the doors as he went. Sarah was at Frances' house tonight, but Kurt felt like he needed a little extra privacy from the world at the moment. Ignoring what he'd said to his dad about moisturizing, he just shed his clothes and put on the pajamas he hardly ever wore anymore, turning off the lights and climbing into bed before dialing Adam's number.

"It's me. Noah's probably already called you; his dad didn't show up for dinner. I'm guessing he's going to need a little extra love tonight. Dinner with Finn and my parents was a complete fiasco." Kurt didn't want to get into it; he took a deep breath and tried to focus on the good things. "We downloaded the Whatya Want from Me video on iTunes this afternoon. Not that I haven't seen it a quadrillion times already. And I can't believe you're actually selling your underwear to benefit Haiti. Is that a hoax or what? Anyway... you looked great on Ellen. Of course she chose you to be her birthday present. I think it's wonderful that your birthdays are three days apart." He pulled his stuffed Ernie a little closer into the crook of his arm and snuggled into his pillow. "Pause for reality check - is this really my life? Okay, yes, moving on. Noah and I will be home tomorrow night with Sarah if you get a chance to call, and if not, hope the AOL sessions go all right. I love you."

It was the saddest message Kurt had ever left for Adam, but it was all he could manage. He wasn't going to call Finn, not after the way their night had gone. Puck had another hour of driving to go before he'd even be back in Lima, and by then Kurt would be practically comatose. For a moment he wondered if he should call Mercedes, just to have someone to talk to, but in the end, no matter how guilty he felt, he couldn't go to sleep without giving Puck  _something._

Puck didn't pick up, and Kurt started his voice mail with, "Sweetheart..." but that was as far as he could get before finding himself almost in tears. Finally, he managed to add, "I'm so sorry he did that - you don't deserve it, and - and I love you." Then he hung up.

_I wish I could give you what you need,_  he thought, staring at the phone in his hands.  _I don't know why I can't. I feel like a failure. Something's wrong and I can't fix it. I need something and I don't know what it is, and it sucks, and I know it sucks twice as much for you._

He left his phone on the nightstand and huddled under Puck's Christmas blanket in the dark, wishing he had the answers.

* * *

When Puck couldn't find Mercedes at school, he started to get worried. She was one of those kids who always went to class, even when she probably could get away with not going, but never gave him a hard time for skipping. But she wasn't in biology, and he didn't spot her in the hall where she usually was on Wednesdays.

If things hadn't been so weird with him and Kurt, he would have asked him. But after last night's text, Puck hadn't heard from him, either. There was no way he was going to ask Finn.

It was Quinn who finally tipped him off in the middle of lunch, approaching him in the hallway. "I need a juice box, right now."

"Uh - okay?" He peered at her round belly. "This some kind of baby thing?"

"It's not for me. Or a granola bar, something." She gave his shoulder a desperate little push. "Come  _on._  Meet me outside the office."

Puck hadn't exactly promised anybody he wouldn't break any laws, and to tell the truth, he barely considered this one to be a law worth considering.  _Who's going to be hurt if I take one extra freaking granola bar?_  he had to ask as he ducked in behind the cafeteria line and into the prep kitchen.

"Hey," said a sharp voice, and he looked up into the eyes of the enormously round lunch lady, Millie. She looked more reproachful than upset. "Puckerman, you can't be back here. What have you got there?"

"Granola bar," he said, figuring it was pointless to lie when the evidence was obvious. "But it's some crisis in the nurse's office. I'm supposed to bring juice boxes or whatever I can get."

Millie glanced suspiciously in the direction of the nurse's office. "You expect me to buy that?"

"Come with me if you don't," he challenged. She considered this, then picked up a box of granola bars from the stock shelf and wedged it under her arm.

"Lead the way," she said, gesturing grandly.

Puck could have found his way to the office blindfolded, he'd been sent there so many times, but he felt more nervous for trying to look like he knew more than he did in front of this adult who'd never done him any wrong. Maybe Quinn was giving him shit, too.

But Quinn was waiting outside the nurse's office door, and she stood when Puck and Millie approached. "Mercedes fainted at lunch," she told Puck.

The first thought that crossed his mind was  _oh, fuck, she's not pregnant too, is she?_  But Millie watched him, and the expression on his face must have passed muster, because she handed him the box of granola bars.

"Whatever you don't use, bring back, all right, Puckerman?" She touched his arm. "I trust you."

He smiled at her in surprise, but Millie was already moving down the hall toward the cafeteria. Quinn watched her go with a complex expression of her own.

"I figured you had to be in close with those cafeteria ladies, knowing your reputation for cougars," she teased, but it was halfhearted. Puck broke open the package of bars and held one out to Quinn.

"I'll wait out here," he said. "You'd better give this to her."

Quinn stared unhappily at the bar. "I'm not her friend. Last I heard, you were."

"Yeah, and this week's been weird enough that I still think you'd do better talking to her than me." He kept his arm extended until she finally took the granola bar from his hand.

"She's just hungry," said Quinn. "I know how that feels." She slipped through the door to the nurse's office and was gone.

Puck took the remainder of the box back to Millie, tucking it behind the cash register. The other cafeteria worker gave him the evil eye. "Puckerman..."

"Don't worry," Millie called, waving her slotted serving spoon. She didn't even look over at him, but he could hear her smile. "He's all right."

_I'm not, really,_  he thought, slinking back to the office and taking a seat on the linoleum outside the door to the nurse's station. But he thought about Shelby, the way she'd listened to him. Millie had given him a chance to prove himself, and then she'd just accepted him, no questions, had even vouched for him to another adult.  _Why can't things be that simple with Kurt or Finn?_

He recognized the woman approaching the office, even though he hadn't ever met her. Struggling to his feet, he tried to look as presentable as he could. "Um - Mrs. Jones?"

"Yes?" She looked wary, but the encounter with Millie had bolstered his confidence. He stuck out his hand.

"Noah Puckerman. I'm Kurt's boyfriend."

"Oh!" She blinked, then took his hand and shook it, still somewhat confused, but smiling. "Mercedes has told me about you. You wrote that song she recorded with you?"

"She told you about that?" He was thrown for a moment, then refocused. "Mercedes is inside with Quinn. She fainted at lunch."

"The nurse told me." Mrs. Jones paused with her hand on the doorknob. "You Glee kids sure do look out for each other."

"Yeah," he agreed, when he could speak again. "We do."

Puck didn't wait for Mercedes to come out before taking off down the hall toward the cafeteria. He needed to find Kurt. There were too many things that had happened that week, and he needed a fucking hug from his boyfriend.

* * *

Kurt found Finn at his locker before Glee. He had to take a deep breath before approaching him, and what the hell was that about anyway? And then he had to take  _another_ deep breath, and - he was hyperventilating, that's what he was doing.

"Finn," he said, before he could breathe any more. "We need to talk."

Finn was wearing the blue shirt Kurt had bought him for Christmas over a grey t-shirt Kurt was pretty sure had belonged to Puck at some point. The urge to reach out and touch him was almost as strong as the urge to complain that Finn shouldn't wear  _that_  shirt over anything at all, but no one had been there to offer him fashion advice that morning. Finn didn't say anything. He just waited. There went Kurt's breathing again.

"We have to break Jesse and Rachel up immediately."

Finn's eyebrow went up. "What happened to finding something I like about him for Rachel's benefit?"

"That was before Noah told me what's really going on with Jesse." He grimaced. "Too long a story for the hallway at school. Just... I screwed up."

"Okay." Finn looked just as miserable as Kurt felt. His voice dropped to a low murmur. "It hurt you, didn't it. When I told you I wanted to move back home. I could tell that you were feeling..."

"Left out," Kurt said quietly. "Invisible. Yeah."

"I don't like that my mom's forgetting about my dad," Finn said. "Getting rid of his chair felt like a slap in the face. Just because she's starting this new relationship with Burt doesn't mean she has to throw away what she had with him. It's up to me to keep his memory alive."

Kurt wanted to point out that Finn might have some things to learn himself about preserving old relationships in the face of new ones, but he thought that might be a little harsh, and he couldn't think of a nice way to say it at the moment. He just nodded. Finn nodded back.

"I... don't think I'm ready to move in with you. No offense."

"None taken," Kurt said, as bravely as he could manage. After all, every other teenager he knew managed to live without his boyfriend right there in the same house. Kurt figured he could learn to do it, too. "So... we put an end to them. Rachel and Jesse. Agreed?"

Finn nodded staunchly. "Agreed." He held out a hand, and Kurt shook it. If Finn wasn't worried about who was watching, he wouldn't be, either. But the feeling of Finn's hand squeezing his stayed with him, long after they'd both made their separate ways to the roller rink for Glee rehearsal.

* * *

While she put on her earrings, Carole watched out of the corner of her eye as Finn walked by carrying Christopher's urn. Admittedly, Finn's behavior had been a little off for the past week or so, but this was an unusual enough occurrence that she stopped to inquire, "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to flush dad's ashes down the toilet," he said.

Carole's eyes narrowed, and she abandoned the earrings on the counter as she hurried after him. "Have you lost your mind?"

Finn's gaze was stony, a challenge in his obstinate expression. "What? I'm just doing the same thing you're doing to him. What's the point of keeping his remains around if you're just going to dump them out like an old ashtray?"

"Fine." She seized the urn from him and set it in the center of the La-Z-Boy, glaring at Finn.

"What are you doing?"

"What you want. What we've been doing for the past fifteen years: pretending." She beckoned, picking up the remote. "Come on, Finn, let's sit and watch TV as a family. Look, there's a basketball game, on; your dad would have liked that." She smiled at the urn. "What do you think, Christopher?"

"Mom, you're being crazy," he said, uneasily.

She turned back to him. "Isn't this what you want? Our cozy little three-person family? No complications, no mess of actual people or real life relationships? Because that's what this is, Finn. A made-up family. All this, the story you've built around this picture and this chair and your dad, it's all pretend." She pointed at the picture, propped on the table beside the couch. "You never knew him at all."

"I know what you've told me, mom," he countered. "You told me he was a good man. He doesn't deserve to be forgotten."

"I'm not going to forget him. I loved him; I did. But the things we had in common, they disappeared pretty quickly when he went for basic training." She sat on the couch, drawing Finn down to sit beside her. "That whole time you were growing inside me - that time I spent falling in love with  _you -_ I was falling out of love with him. And in love with somebody else."

Finn blanched. "The girl."

"Woman, Finn. I was the girl." Carole did her best to focus on the present, not to get lost in hazy memories of Irene, but a few things stood out clearly, even seventeen years later. "She was ready to give us a chance at a family with her. She loved me, and she loved you. But  _I_ wasn't ready. That's why I understand how you can love somebody and still not be ready to make a home with them." She held his gaze. "Trust me, I know it doesn't mean you don't love them enough. It just means it's not the right time for you."

Finn nodded. "I don't think it is - the right time for me. I still think Kurt and Puck are the right guys. I just..." He sighed, staring at his lap.

She smiled encouragement. "I  _like_  Burt. I haven't felt this way about a guy since your dad died. I'm ready to move forward, to take this step. But until you're ready, I'm not going to push you."

Finn hunched forward, his arms cupping his elbows. She could tell he was doing his best to listen to what she was saying, to make sense of it, but his frustration and fear were winning. "This family works. I don't want it to get screwed up."

"This family  _manages,"_  she corrected. "We get by. You just don't know any different because you think what we have is normal." She gestured at the La-Z-Boy. "It's not like I do this with him every night. I don't take the urn to bed with me and talk to him about my day. It's been sixteen years since I had someone to ask for advice. I've had to be the one to create my life, all on my own, Finn. This, what you and I have? It's real. It's just not enough. We don't need any more memories or ghosts. We need a family - a real one, even if it is complicated. A home, for all the people we love."

"I won't do it," he said stubbornly. "I'm not moving, and I'm not ready."

"Sweetheart, I love you so much." She kissed his cheek, seeing the conflict on his face. "Think it over, okay? That's all I'm saying."

When Burt arrived on the front porch, dressed smartly in a sport coat and a new pair of chinos, Finn was still sitting on the couch, watching the basketball game, with Christopher's urn sitting beside him on the recliner. He barely acknowledged Burt's presence.

"You think you should stay?" Burt asked her in an undertone.

"No," she decided. "This is up to him, now."

* * *

_(Author's note: This is the day when the events in the second part of chapter 3 in Breathing Room occur.[You can read it here](../../../524843/chapters/928910%22>http://archiveofourown.org/works/524843/chapters/928910).)_

_Briefly, Finn gets an email from "Patrick," who isn't dealing well with not getting what he needs, either. Finn leaves Glee early on Wednesday afternoon and drives to Columbus to see if he can find Patrick, and finds him in the men's room doing a line of coke. Finn exacts discipline for the transgression, and lo, their world is transformed. Oh, and they each reveal their real names to one another. -amy)_

* * *

Finn thought he might as well give up trying to feel anything but dazed satisfaction as he drove Puck's rattly truck back to Lima that evening. The weather was unpleasantly cold and wet, but to Finn, it was as though he'd stepped in the midst of a perfect ray of sunshine. He felt like he'd developed some kind of magic vision that let him see miles down the highway ahead of himself - and he  _knew_ he could handle what was to come.

The first person he called was his mother.

"Don't freak out, but I took Puck's truck to Columbus," he told her, switching on the speakerphone, "and now I'm coming home."

" _You're in Columbus?"_  she exclaimed. _"Finn, we didn't agree you could drive so far without permission."_

"I know, and I'm sorry, but - It was the boy at the coffeeshop, Patrick."  _Blaine,_  he thought, and felt a warmth in his chest.  _His name's Blaine._  "The one I told you about. He needed - um. He needed me."

_"And that couldn't wait for the weekend?"_ She was calming down already, though, and Finn could tell she was listening to him.

"No, it really couldn't. Mom, I've been kind of freaking out all week. You know I have. And now - this really helped." He took a deep breath and let it out. "I can't even tell you how much."

_"All right, all right... I get it. Just..."_ She sighed. _"You said on Tuesday night at the restaurant that you didn't think you could do that for Kurt or Puck, and instead you drove to Columbus to do it for a boy you barely know?"_

"No, I was wrong," he insisted. "That's what I realized. Puck, and Kurt, they're not going to get what they need until I step up first and get what  _I_  need. I have to be the leader, because... because that's the way it is." He straightened his shoulders. "I know what I have to do now, mom. I know exactly what I have to do. I might be home late, but I'll call you when I know where I'll be, okay?"

_"You're not driving back to Columbus, Finn,"_ she said firmly.

"No. I promise. B- Patrick's in Westerville, anyway." He flexed his hands, gripping the ten and the two of the steering wheel. "Look... I'm really sorry for how I've been acting."

Her voice softened. _"Honey, that's really sweet, but you don't have any reason to apologize to me. I know things are changing a lot right now, for me as much as for you. I told you, I'm not going to push you."_

"That doesn't excuse me acting like - that. Like I was."  _Like a brat,_  he was thinking, but he still wasn't sure he could say that to his mom. "You guys've been really patient with me. You, and Burt, and Kurt and Puck. Even Sarah. I'm not saying I feel any more sure about selling the house or all the stuff we talked about yesterday. I just want you to know, I see how I was being, and I'm... well, I'm holding myself responsible. I know I'm better than that."

_"I believe you, honey. You're always going to be harder on yourself than anyone else will be. Your father was the same way."_

Finn swallowed. "Yeah?"

_"Yeah. I think I might have made a mistake not to tell you more about your dad, because I see so many ways in which you're like him."_

"But there's that whole nature versus nurture thing, right?" he said. "Biology's important, but I think the stuff I got from the people who loved me and took care of me, that's just as important. Maybe more. Maybe... you could tell me more about that girl. Woman. The one you - um." He hesitated long enough that his mom finished his sentence for him.

_"I'd be happy to tell you more about her, Finn. She took good care of me... of both of us."_

He thought his mom sounded a little too weepy to continue this conversation, so he cleared his throat and picked up his phone. "I'll call you later, mom, when I get home."

_"All right. Please drive carefully. Do you want to talk to Kurt? He's right here."_

"Yes, please." His second call would have been to Kurt, anyway. After the way they'd been avoiding one another, Finn didn't expect Kurt to want to take his call, but he did.

_"Finn?"_ He sounded more anxious than his mom had. _"We got your message - are you in Columbus?"_

"I'm heading back now. Kurt, I have to see you tonight, but I don't know exactly when I'll be done. Can I come over after your dad's in bed?"

_"I - I think so. Noah went home after he finished making Adam's cake. Finn, what's going on? Are - are you breaking up with me?"_

"What? No!" He felt a shock, and then a rush of sympathy for Kurt.  If he'd been thinking  _that..._. "Kurt, I need to apologize to you, and I don't think I can do it over the phone. I know I haven't given you very many reasons to trust me lately, but I'm asking you to give me another chance."

_"Yes,"_ Kurt said immediately, _"yes, of course."_ He paused, sounding subdued. _"I suppose this is how Noah feels with his dad. I don't think I could say no to you when you need something. You're part of my family, no matter what."_

The sting of the comparison between him and Puck's dad was sharp, but Finn didn't comment. He deserved whatever words Kurt wanted to say to him. "Yeah. I've been making a mess of things, but I feel the same way.  We are family.  I still want that."

_"You really do?"_ Kurt said, and he was so tentative and hopeful that Finn almost pulled over on the side of highway 33.

"Baby... I'm not going to give up on you. On us. Yeah, things are hard, and I might need to ask you for things that are hard. You get to ask for what you need, too. But I think I forgot that sometimes you might not know  _what_  to ask for." He turned the windshield wipers on, clearing his view. "I think that asking me to be in charge means I'm there to help you figure it out. And to give it to you even if you don't ask."

_"Oh."_ Finn could barely hear Kurt's response. _"I -"_

"Later," said Finn. "I'll come over, and we can talk. I love you."

_"I love you too."_ This was stronger, and Finn could  _hear_  the love. It made him smile, not only to hear it, but to know Kurt was able to share it with him.  _He's better already,_  he thought, and that warmth was back in his chest, knowing he had done something right, something good for his baby.

The final call was to Carl. He wasn't going to call Puck, because he knew Puck well enough to expect that Puck might very well take off if Finn told him he was coming over later. Not only that, Finn might run out of time to see everyone tonight, and the last thing he wanted was to let Puck down again.

Carl had already let him know he had clients that evening, so it was going to have to be another message, but that was okay, too. Finn kept it brief, and the words flowed easily now that he had gotten clear: "Sir, I need a spanking. I mean,  _really._ A lot _._  I'll be waiting at your house when you get home tonight, and you can let me know then if you want me to wait until Friday, but I'm asking. I'm - begging you. I messed up and I need your help."

As soon as Finn hung up, however, the fear hit like a blast of air, making him wince and cringe. He'd made it this far without help, and he would make it until Carl got home, but he wasn't at all sure how he'd tolerate being told no. In the morbidly fascinated cinema of his mind, he imagined himself throwing a full-out tantrum, the way Puck did sometimes, kicking over furniture and yelling. Then he laughed to himself.  _Okay, maybe I do that sometimes too._

Setting his jaw, he focused on the road and getting himself the rest of the way back to Lima, where he could begin to set things right - starting with himself.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finn fixes things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings in this chapter for discussion of discipline, for three spankings and m/m/m sex. I can't promise Finn won't forget this stuff again, but this is a major turning point for all three - all four - of them. 
> 
> This was the first time I wrote Finn after Cory's death, and it felt nothing but good. Enjoy! 
> 
> -amy

Angela answered the door when Finn arrived, but the surprise on her face told him Carl wasn't home from work yet.

"What happened?" she asked, ushering him smoothly into the kitchen and shutting the door behind them. He could smell the remnants of dinner, and something made with apples appeared to be baking in the oven. Angela reached over and switched off the music emanating quietly from a small panel on the wall, then turned on the hot water pot to boil.

"You can tell?" Finn guessed he shouldn't be surprised. He'd never been particularly subtle about his feelings. He took a seat at the island in the center of the room, watching Angela stack the dishes in the sink and run water over them. She glanced up at him briefly, smiling.

"You look like I should be calling you  _sir_  again," she explained.

He laughed, leaning on his folded arms. "Not here, I don't think."

"No," she agreed. "Not as long as you've agreed to be his boy." She reached into the cupboard and brought out a packet of hot chocolate mix, dumping it into the mug and pouring boiling water over it. Her curious expression prompted him to continue.

"There's a boy. In Columbus." Angela nodded, not seeming surprised. "We've been watching him perform at the coffeehouse."

"At Irene's?" Angela's smile widened. She stirred the hot chocolate and tapped the spoon off on the mug, sliding it over to sit next to her own cup of coffee. "Irene's amazing. And I think Dr. Howell told me about this boy. He likes to sing those heartbreaking songs, doesn't he?"

"He's really talented. Carl and I sang with him the weekend before I went to California, and... I don't know, something happened? He let me... hold him, kind of. He was freaking out, and I calmed him down." Finn thought about Blaine, resting on his knee, so trusting, completely letting him direct, and felt himself flush. "I don't know what made him believe I could help him, but..."

"But you did," she finished. "And it's obvious that it helped you, too."

Finn nodded. "Yeah. It really did." He felt confident enough to ask a more personal question. "Um - what you and Carl do... that's not a sex thing, is it?"

Angela made a little cough. "No, Finn. I've never been his lover."

"But he lets you drive his car." Finn tried a sip of the chocolate, but it was still too hot to drink. "He loves that car. He doesn't let anybody else drive it. Not Davis, nobody."  _Not me,_ he didn't say, but he wasn't even seventeen yet; he didn't really expect Carl to let him drive the Corvette, even down in Columbus.

She choked on her coffee. "Davis? God, no. He's a terrible driver. But - Finn, think about it. Dr. Howell trusts me to handle the finances for his business, all the private details, the most intimate things about people. All the social security numbers, his mortgage... I do his grocery shopping; I clean his house, cook his food... of course he would let me handle his car."

Finn had to concede. He blew thoughtfully on his chocolate. "It's almost like you guys are married or something."

She raised one eyebrow at him. He hadn't even known she could do that. "We're not  _married,_ Finn. I'm his slave."

"Yeah, how does that work, anyway? Does he do for you what I do with - with Patrick?"

"We've had a strict disciplinary relationship in the past, but it hasn't been that way for a long time. I don't need that from him anymore." Angela cradled the mug in her hands. "I serve him because I love him, and respect him."

"He totally depends on you." Finn watched her smile falter. "I mean, it's like you said. You run everything. Aren't  _you_  really the one in charge?"

"No," she said quietly. "I think you misunderstand. I'm the one completely dependent on  _him._ " She rested her chin against the rim of the mug. "My contract's been up for over two years. He's introduced me to over a half dozen potential masters, and I've refused every one. It's not because I don't think he can run his life without me. It's because nobody else feels quite...  _right_."

Finn opened his mouth to reply when they both heard the automatic garage door. She hesitated, then pressed the mug of chocolate into his hands.

"Go upstairs," she urged, "and wait for him there. Don't try to guess what he'll want you to do; he'll tell you when he sees you. I'll be sure he knows you're here."

He smiled at her, slipping around the corner to the front staircase and up to the west wing to Carl's private rooms. The house was large enough that by the time he was inside, he could no longer hear any noises from downstairs. The room was comfortable, sparsely furnished, but each piece was well-chosen and arranged for effect. Finn climbed onto the tall bed, stretching out, then thought better of it and moved to the plush chair in the corner. Carl's black guitar was propped on its stand beside the chair, and Finn picked it up, moving awkwardly between the Gs and Ds he'd learned from Kurt's  _Sound of Music_ book:

 _I am sixteen going on seventeen,_  
 _I know that I'm naïve_  
 _fellows I meet may tell me I'm sweet  
_ _and willingly I believe_

 _I am sixteen going seventeen_  
 _Innocent as a rose_  
 _Bachelor dandies, drinkers of brandies  
_ _What do I know of those_

 _Totally unprepared am I_  
 _To face a world of men_  
 _Timid and shy and scared am I  
_ _Of things beyond my ken_

 _I need someone older and wiser  
_ _Telling me what to -_

Finn hesitated on the next word as Carl appeared in the doorway and paused. Based on his expression, he guessed Carl had been listening for a while, out of sight.

"If you're voluntarily singing Rodgers and Hammerstein," said Carl, his voice a little unsteady, "I'm guessing you need a spanking even more than you said you did."

"Sir," said Finn, but Carl stopped him with a gesture, and he waited as Carl entered the room and approached him slowly. He took the guitar from Finn and set it back on the stand. Then he held out a hand, like he was asking Finn to dance. Finn took it, letting Carl draw him to his feet.

Carl's hand was cool. He reached up and ran his other hand over Finn's temple and down his jaw.

"Jeans and shorts off, boy," he murmured, "and on the bed; not another word."

Finn nodded. He could only imagine how such a command would have sounded to anyone else, anyone who didn't understand the reasons behind what they did, and why. It would have sounded crazy to himself, three months ago, before Puck had come to him and begged him:  _I need this. I need to do something to make it right again – inside here._  He felt his own heart pounding as he shed his jeans on the carpeted floor of Carl's bedroom and climbed onto the high mattress, but he wasn't afraid. He simply trusted Carl to give him what he needed.

He felt Carl's hand on his leg, touching gently, moving up to brush his back, waking up the skin. He shivered.

"Tell me what this is about." It was still soft, but the command was clear. Finn took a deep breath, feeling the words he'd thought over the course of his drive back from Columbus settle out, like sediment.

"I've been avoiding doing what I agreed to do for Puck," he said. "Back in the fall, he asked me to help him. He didn't trust anybody else to do that for him, and he's been - alone, since he got back from California. Adam's been trying to encourage Kurt to do it, but Kurt's stuck in his own stuff, acting out. Neither of them could ask me for help. They couldn't, and I wasn't ready to give them what they needed."

"Mmmm." Carl's hand paused on the curve of Finn's bottom, just resting there. "This realization. It's not about me. Why come here?"

"I - I'm not sure." He was starting to lose focus under Carl's soothing touch, and he tried to hang onto the awareness he'd reached in the car. "I think I needed you to tell me I was making the right choice."

"Finn, you know you're making the right choice. You're certain about what you need to do for your boys, just as you're certain you need to be here right now." He gave Finn one open-handed swat, and Finn flinched at the unexpected impact. "Try again."

"Sir," he replied quickly. "I felt guilty."

"Penance? Is that what you need? An eye for an eye?"

He shook his head slowly. "Not exactly. I don't - I'm not sure."

Another slap, this one lower on his thighs. Finn felt that one. He wanted to spread his legs, to grind against the bed, to thrust back against the touch, but he held on.  _This isn't about sex,_  he told himself.  _It's about... something else._

"I needed you," he said. "I needed you to listen to what happened. To hear it, to be... kind of a witness. I needed you to know I'd done something wrong. To tell you."

"Well, you've told me." Carl's hand stopped again, hovering over Finn's skin. "Is that all you need?"

"No." The word caught, and he had to say it again. "No. Not all."

"Tell me, Finn." Now the warning was clear, the words snapping out like the tail of the whip Finn had never seen him use. He choked out a sudden sob.

"I need you to make it okay."

Carl's slow sigh mirrored Finn's breath. "You think I can do that for you?"

"I know it," he pleaded. "You do. That's what you do for me. I need - sir - your hand -"

The next impact came suddenly, much harder than a hand, and he cried out. It was a paddle, dense and heavy and carrying with it far more sting than Finn had anticipated. He twisted away instinctively, but Carl gave him one shove with a knee and kept him in place for the next series of blows.

"Hold still, boy," he barked, and Finn felt himself shrink, somehow, becoming more still, more solid, and the next three blows didn't move him at all. He breathed in, feeling the heat coalesce in the base of his spine, making him tingle all up and down his back. Carl's voice softened, became reassuring. "That's it..."

"I'm sorry," he said, letting his breath draw the tears out as Carl paused, resting the paddle on his heated skin. "I'm sorry - I didn't ask you for it."

"Such a good boy," Carl reassured him. "I knew you would ask when you were ready."

Finn let himself shake for a little while, then he drew himself up on his hands and knees, and took another long breath. "More. Please."

This time he welcomed each blow, felt the way his skin burned, the connections between every location on his body reduced to one single point of impact. It was like a fever, a wildfire, and the paddle was driving it through him, burning everything nonessential in its wake. He lost track of the number of swats, but when Carl paused again, Finn breathed again, listening to his body. Finally he nodded, slumping to the bed with a sigh.

"Thank you," he said. "May I have - mmmmph!"

Carl's hands had seized Finn's shoulders and flipped him over, climbing on top of him, and hovered above him for a bare second before leaning forward and kissing him hard. Whatever muscle tone was remaining in Finn's body fled, leaving him breathless and limp. Most of him, anyway.

"That," panted Carl, kissing him again, "was the sweetest, most incredible..."

"Wait, what?" Finn had to laugh, pulling back, loving the sensation of Carl's hands combing through his hair. "What was?"

Carl's eyes were shining. " _My_  boy, asking me to take care of him, asking for  _more,_ for just as much as he needed... on the evening of our one month anniversary."

They lay there together for several long moments, Finn's skin stinging, his nerves humming with stimulation and the rush of endorphins. Finally, when he was ready to let go, Carl kissed him once more and nudged him to his feet.

"As much as I'd like to keep you for a while, you have other things to do tonight."

He sat cross-legged on the bed and watched Finn gingerly slip his boxers back on over his raw skin, followed by his jeans. Then Finn picked up the paddle sitting on the bed beside Carl, poking his fingers through the holes drilled in the flat surface, sanded to satin-smoothness.

"How'd it feel, compared to the other paddle?" asked Carl.

"Worse," he said, grimacing, and Carl smiled.

"Stings more, doesn't it? Effective, though, when time is short. You're likely to get bruises from that one. Do you still have some of that arnica gel I gave you?"

"Yeah, I think so." He held the paddle against his chest. "Could I take this with me? Just for tonight? I promise I won't lose it or break it."

"You're not likely to break it, seeing as it's rosewood. But you're not going to use that on Kurt, are you? It's a heavy tool, not exactly what I would suggest for his first foray away from the suede flogger." He hopped down to stand beside Finn, beckoning for him to follow. "Come on down to the workroom, and I'll help you choose a few things to take with you and try out."

Finn followed, feeling the burn calming to an ache as he moved, but it was nothing compared to the warmth in his heart.

* * *

He sent Kurt a text on his way over. It wasn't late enough that he was worried about Kurt being asleep, not since he'd warned him that he would be arriving after bedtime, but he also knew that Kurt was probably anxious about what was going to happen.

 _He's smart,_  thought Finn, turning into Kurt's driveway and cutting the engine on Puck's truck,  _but he doesn't always see how he's being, what he's doing. He needs me._  It was a credit to Carl's work that Finn didn't turn that thought into fuel for his guilt. It was just a fact. Kurt needed him, and he wasn't going to let him down this time.

Finn considered knocking before entering the garage door leading into the Hummel basement, but Burt had told him he was still welcome at the house, even if he wasn't living there.  _Like Puck is._  He wiggled the doorknob a little to make noise, though, and took his time coming through the door and into the dark sitting room. Kurt's bedroom light was on.

"Baby?" he called softly, lifting his backpack to one shoulder.

"In here," he heard Kurt call back.

The way Kurt's voice made Finn feel - that hadn't changed. He felt just as certain about his feelings for Kurt as he'd been four months ago, when they'd started spending every day together. He smiled at him as he walked through the doorway to his room. Kurt was seated on his bed in his pajamas, reading a fashion magazine.

"It's Finn," said Kurt, and Finn paused, realizing Kurt was talking into his phone.

 _Adam?_  he mouthed, and Kurt nodded. Then Kurt paused, and held out the phone.

"He wants to talk to you."

Finn took the phone, putting it to his ear, trying not to feel nervous. "Hey."

 _"Hey yourself,"_ said Adam, and he  _sounded_  nervous. _"After we talked, I tried to suggest Kurt ask Noah for help, even if he couldn't ask you? But I don't think it's helped much."_

"No, I... no, you're right." Finn set the backpack on the foot of the bed. "But I'm going to take care of it. I brought tools."

 _"Oh. Oh!"_  Adam's relief flooded through the word, and Finn smiled at the stricken expression on Kurt's face. _"God, thank you. You don't know how many times this week I thought about getting on a plane and flying out there myself. If my schedule hadn't been so packed, I might just have done that."_

"I'm sorry," said Finn sincerely. "For not dealing with it sooner. I needed some help to get here, and... well, I'm here now. I won't let them down again."

 _"Them?"_ echoed Adam.

"Both of them. We're going to head over to see Puck after this."

There was a pause. Finn might have felt anxious if he hadn't been so absolutely certain that he was doing the right thing.

 _"The two of you are just what Noah needs,"_ Adam said quietly. There was envy in his voice, but not jealousy, and Finn thought he could live with that.

"He needs you, too, remember?" Finn moved in to stand beside Kurt's bed, close enough to let Kurt rest his head on Finn's stomach. Kurt sighed, not a contented sigh, but one of irritation and consternation.  _I know that feeling,_  Finn thought, _and it sucks._

 _"Only so much I can do from here."_ Adam was brisk, but he didn't sound happy either. _"I hope you have a good birthday, Finn."_

 _"You, too,"_ he said, and decided not to ask how old Adam would be on Friday. He could look it up online if he really wanted to know. _"Kurt and Puck - um."_ He thought better of his comment, as the cake, waiting upstairs to be shipped, might be intended to be a surprise. " _You have any plans?"_

 _"I think Jacob has something in mind, but he's being pretty cagy about it. It'll be Friday soon enough."_ Adam sighed. _"I'll wait and talk to Noah tomorrow, but I'll say good night to Kurt now, if you don't mind."_

"Uh, no. Here." He handed the phone back to Kurt, who put it warily back to his own ear.

"That didn't sound... no. No!" Kurt appeared offended, then annoyed. "There's nothing. Honestly, I can't think of one thing."

Finn went into the bathroom and brushed his teeth, taking off his sweater. He left his pants on, but he knew Kurt responded to contact with his skin. The door leading out the other side of the bathroom into Sarah's room was open a tiny bit, and he hesitated before knocking gently. When there was no answer, he pulled the door open, peeking through.

Sarah was seated on her bed, headphones on, her head bobbing gently as she sketched in her notebook. Finn couldn't see details from where he was, but it didn't appear to be a figure drawing. There were straight lines and words, like a map. He waved a hand to get her attention, and she looked up, blinking. She tugged one earbud out in surprise.

"Hi," she said. "Um - you're here."

"Yep," he agreed.

She tilted her head, frowning. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, everything's fine. I just needed... well, I have to give Kurt something." He gestured behind himself, waiting while Sarah watched him. Then she nodded, blushing.

"I'll turn my music up," she said.

"Sorry," he told her. "Too much information?"

"Not enough shirt," she muttered, waving him away.

He retreated into the bathroom in a hurry, feeling vaguely embarrassed that Sarah would notice such things about him. After all, he'd seen her sleeping half-naked in a bed with Puck more than once, and she undressed in front of Kurt all the time, but apparently with him, it was different.  _Another good reason for us all not to live together,_  he thought, but it felt more like an excuse than a reason. He closed the second door leading from the bathroom to Kurt's room, waiting while Kurt finished his phone call.

"Honestly," Kurt snapped, setting the phone down on the table beside his bed with a fastidious click. "Sometimes I feel like I have no autonomy anymore."

"Um," said Finn. Kurt glared balefully at him.

"SAT word. Autonomy. Having control over oneself and one's situation."

Finn sat on the edge of the bed, grinning a little. "Really? You don't think you've got control? How many kids our age have their own car? How many of them can talk to their parents about  _everything?_  How many of them get permission to sleep over at their boyfriends' houses?"

"Well, what good is  _having_ it when you won't  _sleep over?"_  Kurt cried, flinging out his hands. Finn considered him.

"So you're not mad because you don't have control; you're mad because you don't like other people having control, too."

"Of course!" Kurt's voice was rising now, and he didn't seem concerned about anyone else hearing. "Don't  _you_  want to be in charge of everybody and everything?"

"Not everything," said Finn. He touched Kurt's leg. "I went to Carl and told him I needed help. I waited a long time before I did that, way longer than I should have. I  _do_  want to be in control, but only where I'm needed." He stroked Kurt's thigh, watching him look away, his arms crossed defensively. "I think I'm needed, here."

"Yes, Finn. I need you. I'm always going to need -"

"So," Finn went on, cutting him off gently, "you're not giving Puck what he needs."

Kurt huffed. "Neither are  _you."_

"I know. I'm going to take care of that. We both are, together. You have the paddle Adam sent, for you to use on him?"

Kurt was staring at him, his face flushed. "I thought you said you couldn't - that you were afraid -"

"I am. But, you know, you do scary things every day. You live your life, fearless." He squeezed Kurt's knee, watching for his response. "There's no reason I can't do the same. You inspire me."

"Oh, Finn." Kurt looked like he might cry. That was fine with Finn. Finn unzipped his backpack and took out the tools Carl had given him, watching Kurt's eyes widen at the appearance of each one until he was almost a caricature of himself. With one finger, Kurt reached out and touched the largest wooden paddle. "Oh my god."

"You can do this," he said. "When you need help from me, you can ask. You don't have to be scared." He took the paddle and placed it in Kurt's hand, curling his hands around the smooth wood. Kurt looked at his own hand like he couldn't quite believe it was attached to him.

"You want me to use this on Noah?" he said, turning his wrist, holding the paddle from all angles. Finn leaned in, kissing him slowly, feeling him respond, and brushed his lips against Kurt's ear.

"Not until I use it on you."

"On  _me?"_  he yelped, jerking his hand back.

"Baby," he said. "You're not going to be ready to help Puck until you get what  _you_  need."

"But I haven't done anything  _wrong,"_  Kurt said, with such a whine that Finn nearly smiled.

"Yeah, it sounded like you were trying to tell Adam the same thing." He set the paddle aside and took Kurt's hands, waiting patiently until Kurt stopped scowling and looked at him. "You've been doing things all week, at school. Things to get my attention. You haven't been calling Adam every night, either."

"I've been busy," he began, and then stopped, thinking. He shook his head. "God."

"I've been doing it too," Finn went on. "I'm sorry. You were trying to tell me you needed me, and I saw it, but I didn't do anything to help you. I didn't feel like I could. But I  _can._  And I'm going to, right now."

Kurt eyed the selection of tools on the bed. "You're going to... help me?"

"I think you don't feel like what you're doing is enough for Puck, and that makes you scared to do anything at all. I want... to show you how to use these things." He picked up the rosewood paddle, putting a finger through the holes, and watched Kurt gulp. "But right now, I just want you to let me give you what you need. And that means you've got to ask for it."

He watched Kurt flinch.  _I don't need anything,_  was the clear message, but Kurt only said, "I don't know what you want me to ask for."

"It's not about me," said Finn. "It's about you being the best you can be, for Puck. If you can't do that, it'll be a lot more work for me to try to help him without you." He gestured. "So come sit on my lap and tell me what you need, baby."

Kurt was trembling even before he wrapped his arms around Finn's chest, resting his head against him. Finn kissed his forehead, his cheek, anything he could reach.

"I want you to come home," Kurt said. "You and Noah. I want -"

Finn shook his head. "I'm not asking about what you want. What do you need, right now?"

He buried his face in Finn's chest, but with no shirt there, there wasn't really anywhere to hide. "I can't," he whispered.

"Do you remember how you felt when you got home from California? That was a week ago. When you were with Adam, you got what you needed, and so did Puck. And then you got home. How did you feel?"

Kurt thought about it. "Strong," he said. "Confident. Brave."

"Yeah. You were full of those things. I saw you at school. And now, a week later, without it?"

He nodded understanding. "Everything's harder. I'm... depleted, of something essential."

"I think you've been needing me and Puck around partly because you're lonely, but partly because you're not getting what Adam gave you. It's my responsibility to give it to you, just like it's your responsibility to give it to Puck. You need to be your best self, in order to be aware of his needs. Do you get what I'm saying?"

"Are you saying... that feeling of strength, of confidence. I'm taking that away from Noah, when - when I can't ask you for discipline?" He sounded more than unhappy. He sounded appalled.

Finn waited in silence, holding him, until Kurt closed his eyes and nodded again.

"I know we've been through this before," he said. "And it feels ridiculous to have to talk about it over and over, but..."

"It's okay, baby." He waited again, watching this time as Kurt turned to the pile of tools again. He picked up the same large, smooth walnut paddle that he'd held before. Then he bit his lip and pressed it to Finn's chest.

"This one," he said in an undertone. "Please."

Finn didn't hesitate any further, letting Kurt off his lap just long enough to sweep the rest of the tools off the bed. Then he yanked Kurt's pajama pants down to his knees, making him gasp, and helped him lie face down over his thigh, resting his head on the bed. All the time, he could feel himself bursting with pride and love for Kurt, and the way Kurt was trusting Finn to do this for him. It would have been easy to lose his focus and cover him with kisses, but he managed to rest the paddle on Kurt's bare behind, breathing in and out several times before bringing it down hard.

Kurt didn't need any instruction to  _let go._  He did that just fine on his own, bursting into loud sobs almost immediately. Finn made encouraging noises, but he was pretty sure Kurt wasn't worried at the moment about being heard. It wasn't until Kurt started to twitch and squirm away from the paddle that he secured him in one arm, holding him still.

"Six more," he said calmly. "That's all. Can you manage that?"

Upon hearing the question, Finn felt Kurt settle over his knee, relaxing somewhat. He wiped his face with one hand. "Yes. I can manage that."

The last six swats were no less firm, but they felt gentler somehow, more loving, and while Kurt exclaimed a little, he didn't try to get away from them. As soon as Finn set the paddle down and gave his shoulder a little tug, though, he immediately curled into Finn's arms, holding on tightly and crying all over again.

"Kurt," he whispered, "Kurt, my baby... I'm so proud of you."

He held him there, stroking his hair, until Kurt stirred a little. Then Finn helped him stand, pulling his pants most of the way up and assisting him to lie down on the bed, on his side. He climbed up behind Kurt, spooning him while he inspected the surface of Kurt's behind, making sure he hadn't done any actual damage. It was bright red and mottled with little blisters under the skin, but Finn didn't think he'd need more than a day or two before those would fade. Finally he pulled Kurt's pajamas the rest of the way up and stretched out behind him, draping an arm across Kurt's chest.

"We'll rest for a while before we drive to Puck's," he said. "It's late enough that I don't think you even need to get dressed. Nobody's going to see you in your pajamas but us."

Kurt nodded drowsily. "I should tell my dad I'm going."

"I can do that. Just relax."

Finn didn't have to wait long before Kurt was asleep. It would have been easy to join him, but letting things go with Puck even one more day felt impossible. Then he thought suddenly of Blaine, and wondered if he should call him. He climbed carefully off the bed, so as not to wake Kurt, and took his phone from his pocket as he went into the basement family room. Blaine's number was listed under  _Patrick_  on his phone, and he decided he wouldn't change it.

"Hello?" said Blaine's voice, sounding hushed. "Is... is this Finn?"

"Yeah," he said, and heard Blaine make a little noise, just a faint  _oh._  He smiled, switching on the light by the green couch. "I didn't really have anything to say, I just wanted to call and see how you were doing."

"I'm - good. Actually, I just finished my homework." He laughed. "I guess you don't need to know that."

"No, no, I'm glad. That's a good sign, I think. That you can focus. I always feel... so much better at that, afterwards."

"Do you? Feel better, I mean?" Blaine still sounded a little surprised to be talking to Finn.

"God, yeah. I had all these realizations on my way home, and I'm taking care of them now."

"Oh, well, I won't keep you, then," Blaine said quickly. "Just... thank you, Finn. For everything."

"You're welcome. Get some sleep, all right?"

"Yes." The response was faint. "Good night."

Finn climbed the stairs to the kitchen, but the house was dark. He poured himself a glass of water from the tap, drinking it down, then refilled it with water from the refrigerator filter for Kurt, knowing he didn't care for the taste of tap water. Then he noticed the light coming from under the door to Burt's office on the other side of the kitchen. He knocked twice on the door.

"Yeah?" He heard Burt's squeaky desk chair shift, and pushed open the door to see Burt sitting there, looking up at him. Burt smiled. "Hey, I didn't expect to see you tonight."

"Yeah, me and Kurt, we had something really important to talk about," said Finn. "He's asleep right now, but we have to go over to Puck's, tonight, and I wanted to ask if that was okay."

Burt's smile faded. "I don't know, Finn. It's a school night, and Kurt has Cheerios practice before school tomorrow. You guys have a lot of pep assemblies, you know that?"

"I wouldn't ask if it weren't important." He waited, not begging or pushing, just letting Burt make up his own mind, but holding his ground. Burt nodded slowly.

"Yeah, okay. Just try to get him in bed by midnight, or he's going to be impossible all weekend." He nodded his head at the table beside his desk, where a tall packing box sat, the flaps still open. "Did you see what he and Puck and Sarah made? I couldn't believe it."

Finn peered into the box, pulling the cardboard flaps aside to see a second box inside, with packing material in the space in between. The box had a clear plastic window in the lid, and Finn could see the blue and white surface of the cake inside, inscribed with the words  _Happy Birthday Adam_. "Whoa," he said, impressed. "It's, like, three stories tall. How did they make it all shiny like that?"

"Sarah said it's called fondant. I'm not at all convinced it'll make it through to California without getting smashed, but Kurt assured me the UPS shipping office told him it would be safe like this. I think the insurance cost more than the cost of the ingredients." He grinned, looking as proud as though he'd made the cake himself.

Finn had to smile back. Adam might be new and shiny, like the cake, but he wasn't here to be with Kurt and Puck every day. Given the choice, he was pretty sure he'd rather be in his own shoes than in Adam's. "That's pretty awesome."

"You guys planning to stay over at Puck's?" Burt shook his head. "I'll tell you, I don't feel so good about him being in that apartment all by himself. If social services finds out he's not here, it could be really bad for him. Maybe for Sarah, too."

"Carl's not going to tell anybody. And it's temporary. I mean... he's gonna have a baby in a couple months." Finn paused, feeling the impact of that fact. "I don't think he should be over  _there_  alone with her. Do you?"

"No." Burt looked like he wanted to say more, but then he stopped, shaking his head. "This ain't a conversation for this late at night. I'm going to have to talk to all of you guys. It just hasn't seemed like a good week for that."

"I think things are going to be better," said Finn. "I'm going to do my best to make it happen."

* * *

Puck didn't come to the door when they knocked on 234 1/2 N. Main, so Kurt called his phone, letting it ring. The voice mail he left was brief: "Noah. I'm outside. Please let me in."

"What if he doesn't respond?" Kurt asked Finn, shivering a little in his pajamas on the sidewalk.

"I have an extra key," said Finn. "I don't really want to use it, though, because it's his place, and I think as long as he wants to be here, he needs to feel like it's safe. Your dad isn't sure it is."

Kurt sighed, leaning against him. Finn put his arms around him, figuring it wasn't likely that anybody important was going to notice them snuggling on Main Street this late at night on a Wednesday. "I guess we can't really be sure of anything."

"Death and taxes?"

That made Kurt laugh. "When Puck was... gone, in Santa Fe, after his mother passed away, my dad reminded me of that quote. I told him it was death and laundry, and he said it was death and smart-alec sons."

"Your dad's awesome," said Finn, smiling. "I wish..."

Kurt waited, but when Finn didn't go on, he prompted, "What?"

"He's not my dad," he said slowly. "As cool as he is. I always wished I could have had the chance to see what my own dad was like, but... now it sounds like he was a lot less important to my life than I thought he was? Somebody else was taking care of me and my mom when I was a baby, not him. He was just... the sperm donor, I guess."

"Finn," said Kurt, taking his hand and tucking it in against his chest, between them, "he was a lot more than that. He's part of you."

A loud buzzing noise made both of them jump, and Kurt looked over at the door. "Noah," he said, and pulled on the door to the staircase leading upstairs. It opened, and Kurt held it while Finn went up first.

Noah was waiting for them at the top, but when he saw Finn, his face closed. "Dude. I thought you were in Columbus?"

"I came back," said Finn. "I brought the truck back, too." He held out the keys, tucking them into Puck's hand. "It sounded kind of rattly, but I made it there and back again. Thanks."

Puck nodded, watching him. "You get what you needed down there?"

"Yeah." Finn set his backpack down by his feet while Kurt closed the door. "I want to tell you all about it."

His mouth twisted, his chin jerking up. "Sounds like you had another fucking epiphany."

Finn shrugged. "Something like that. I'm not here to witness to you or anything. Just..." He gestured. "Can we come in?"

Puck went somewhat unwillingly into the family room. The windows didn't have any coverings, and above the rooftops of the city, Finn could see the stars shining faintly through the light of downtown Lima's urban landscape. He sat on the couch, Kurt standing beside him, while Puck stopped in the kitchen, opening the refrigerator and pulling out a pitcher and a block of what looked like cheese.

"Sweetheart," said Kurt, but Puck spoke over him.

"My dad called. Said he wanted to apologize for missing our dinner, that he got stuck at work and couldn't make it. I wanted to tell him he was a fucking prick and I wasn't going to listen to his bullshit anymore." He let the fridge close. "But I didn't. Big surprise."

"You don't owe him anything," said Kurt, but Puck shot him a pained look.

"No, I know. I could give him eight thousand chances to fix the way things were between us, and he's still going to let me down, because that's what he does. Anyway, this whole business between us, it's not for him at all. It's for me."

Kurt watched him slicing the cheese with quick, sharp, angry strokes, looking back at Finn in consternation. Finn just nodded, gesturing, and Kurt went to Puck, putting an arm around his back. "For you?"

"It was what Meemee said when Ma died. He told me that leaving home, leaving Ma... he always regretted taking off on her, on us. That he didn't want that to happen to me. This chance with my dad, it might suck, but maybe it'll be worth it someday, if it's the only chance I get to know him." He set the knife down, shaking his head. "I can't believe this crap is coming out of my mouth."

"No, I get it," said Finn. "Even if my dad had been a homophobic asshole, I still wish I could've had a chance to look at him and shake his hand."

"Or punch him in the face," Kurt murmured. Finn grinned at him, quick and bright. He was pretty sure Puck still didn't know about the incident at his Ma's funeral.

The cheese was a little too soft and stinky for Finn's liking, but Kurt and Puck ate it while he stuck with the drink, which was cold and herbal and a little sweet. They sat there like strangers on the couch, watching each other, until Finn decided it was too late for him to be any more patient.

"You let me fuck you the other day," he said. Puck's eyebrows went up.

"Yeah," he drawled. "Your point?"

"You let me call you  _mine."_  He watched Puck's jaw set. "In Kurt's room, too."

"That was hot." Puck shrugged, taking another drink. "You know I like that."

"Yeah. I like it, too." He looked at Kurt. "My epiphany was about realizing the difference between what you want and what you need."

"You sang that song at sectionals. Been kind of a long time since then to realize that." Puck didn't sound angry or even particularly snarky, just like he was pointing out a fact. Kurt took his hand, and he didn't pull away. "So what do you want?"

"I  _want_  to have space, sometimes. A space where I'm not in charge of anybody but myself." Finn kept his gaze steady on Puck. "But I  _need_  to know you guys are getting what  _you_  need. That I'm keeping my promises to you."

Puck shrugged again. "You told me you couldn't give that stuff to me without me asking. So I stopped expecting it. Kurt's taking care of it."

"But I haven't been," said Kurt wistfully. "You need things I haven't felt ready to give you."

Puck closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair. "Can we deal with this in the morning? It's fucking late."

"No." Finn reached out and touched Puck's leg, and his eyes flew open again, staring at him. "I'm still not gonna do this without your permission." He nodded at Kurt. "But  _he_  is."

Puck jerked back, turning wide, startled eyes on Kurt, who was reaching into Finn's backpack. He pulled out the lined cuffs he'd brought back with him from California and set them on Puck's knee.

"Oh," Puck said weakly. "Um..."

"I'm pretty sure you asked for those," said Finn. He nodded at Kurt. "Go on, baby."

Kurt took a deep breath before reaching in one more time and taking out a plain black collar. This he kept in his hands, holding it out for Puck to examine more closely. Finn wondered if Puck would pull away from it, but his hands came up almost immediately to touch it, looking hungry and hopeful. The attitude had fallen away like a curtain. It was remarkable.

"You told me Adam put one of these on you," he said. "This one belongs to Carl. It's just a tool, not meant to be a promise, but... I think you might need one of those, too. A promise, from us, to take care of you the way you need. Especially when Adam's not around."

Puck's breath was coming more quickly now, and it hitched at the mention of Adam's name. He rolled his eyes to look at Finn. "Holy shit," he whimpered. "I... really?"

"If you want it from us," said Finn, "we've talked about it, and we want to give it to you. Tonight; right now. You don't have to know what you want past tonight, but..."

"But you need this, sweetheart," Kurt went on. "I saw what a difference it made for you."

Finn nodded. "I can't let you go on without it, even if it's a risk. Even if it feels a little scary."

Finn watched Puck stir slowly in his seat, gather himself, and pick up the cuffs, turning them over in his hands. "It doesn't," he said. "It... it doesn't feel scary. I do trust you guys. You don't have to be perfect for it to be okay."

Kurt stood up, holding out his hand. Finn thought of Carl, offering his hand in so much the same way, and felt a tremor inside as Puck reached for Kurt, following him into the bedroom. Finn picked up the backpack and went in third, not bothering to close the door behind him. This space was private, as private as it got. The bed already had chains affixed to the corner bedposts, and Finn knew they would be secure.

"Take off your clothes," said Kurt. He left his pajamas on while Puck stripped, pulling the rumpled covers back on the bed to leave it bare. Puck waited, watching Kurt with anticipation, and when Kurt gestured to the bed, Puck didn't bother to sit. He crawled into the center and knelt, waiting. It made Finn catch his breath.

"Such a good boy," Kurt smiled, leaning forward to kiss him. He reached for Puck's wrist, but Puck held back, looking at Finn, and Kurt stopped, nodding agreement. "Yes. Of course." He turned to Finn, too, holding out a hand. "You should do this for him."

It was the first moment of real fear for Finn, and he felt paralyzed.  _He doesn't want that from me,_  the words in his head said.  _I'm just going to hurt him again. He doesn't need me when he has you and Adam._  But the expression on Puck's face didn't look scared, and Finn wasn't going to let himself get stuck in doubt; not this time. He reached for Kurt's hand, and took the cuffs from him, buckling them around Puck's wrists one at a time.

"Nice," he said, fingering the soft lining. The ones Carl used were rougher inside, but he thought these might be comfortable enough to wear all night. Puck's pupils were dilated wide, and he knelt there, silent and overwhelmed, while Kurt put the collar around his neck.

"Tonight, you're our boy," he said, looking solemnly into his eyes. "Tomorrow, we'll figure out what comes next, but tonight, you let us take care of everything. Understand?"

"Yes sir," Puck whispered. The words, spoken in Puck's voice, even as quietly as that, affected Finn. He saw Puck look up at him, and he stopped in the middle of taking off his own clothes, compelled to touch him.

"You look so fucking amazing like this." Finn wasn't sure where to rest his hand. It moved from Puck's shoulder, to his neck, to his chest, to the wrists bound before him, and back to cup his head. He felt the energy of three spankings pulsing inside him as he leaned forward to kiss him, hard, and they both moaned.

"On your knees, Noah." Kurt's command was light, not demanding, but Puck moved quickly anyway, letting Finn and Kurt fasten the chain through his collar before buckling his wrists to it. He took the smooth wooden paddle out of Finn's bag, showing it to Puck, then adding the paddle with holes and Adam's leather paddle to the pile. Puck didn't even look surprised. He was acquiescing, giving it up to both of them, and he looked so goddamn  _grateful_  that Finn wanted to cry.

"All right, baby," he said, trying to remain steady. "Start with the leather paddle."

"Adam showed me," Kurt nodded. He demonstrated the technique, quick slaps over the whole surface of Puck's behind, barely noting Puck's groans and fidgets. Finn stepped in to stand behind him, picking up the broad wooden paddle. He passed it to Kurt, but kept his hand there alongside his.

"It's big enough to cover more skin," said Finn, and laid it against one cheek, pressing a little. Puck twitched away, and Finn gave him a smack with the paddle, just lightly. When he tapped the other cheek, Puck stayed still. Finn's other hand ran up to touch Puck's bare shoulder. "Take a breath and let it out."

Both Puck and Kurt did that simultaneously, and Finn would have laughed if it hadn't been so touching. As it was, he was close to tears already. He didn't wait, though; as soon as Puck was exhaling, he brought the paddle back and gave him a hard  _smack._  Kurt flinched back at Puck's muted roar.

"You're going to hurt him," Kurt protested.

"You can't hurt somebody's ass," said Finn. "That's what Carl told me. You can mark it up pretty well, but it's not going to be damaged. And - baby, he  _needs this._  Don't be afraid." He let Kurt take the paddle. "Just like that."

Kurt braced himself, focusing just as he had when he was getting ready to kick a field goal in football. Then he drew back his arm and let it come down, hard, on Puck's other butt cheek. Puck's flinch was minimal, but Kurt seemed to learn from that stroke, because he drew back immediately and did it again, in the same spot, and this time Puck's response was a loud,  _"Fuck!"_

"That's good," Finn urged. "Keep going."

"Noah." Kurt's voice was so calm and strong, even though his face was red and he was breathing hard. "I'm going to hand the paddle to Finn. If you need me, I'm right here. He's going to take such good care of you."

Finn felt another wave of fear, but this one was nearly obliterated by the desire to get his hands on Puck, to feel him underneath him.  _My boy,_  the voice inside him chanted,  _mine, my boy, mine._ He turned to Kurt, took his face in both hands and kissed him thoroughly. The noises Kurt made, Puck echoed.

"You trust me with him?" Finn asked. Kurt nodded, putting the paddle in Finn's hand and letting go.

"I do," said Kurt. "And he trusts you, too. He needs you."

"But not because you can't do it." He smiled, and Kurt smiled back. "You can. You can do this."

"I want to." Kurt placed a hand on Finn's bare chest. "I want to take care of him, with you."

As Finn turned back to Puck, he leaned down closer, putting a hand on his shoulder. The words on Finn's lips felt risky, but he knew they were the right ones.

"Noah," he said, as gently as he could. Puck startled, then whimpered. "Do you hear me?"

"Yeah," he replied, then, with a gulp, added, "sir."

The sensation was dizzying, but the hand on Puck's shoulder steadied him. "That's right. Do you know I'm right here?"

"Yes." This was more certain.

He ran his hand down the center of Puck's back, down to the base of his spine and back up. "Do you know I'm so goddamn proud of you?"

Another whimper, one that broke into a sob.

"It's okay," he added quietly. "You don't have to know that. You're listening, and that's all I need you to do." He held the paddle out, raised it high, just as Kurt had done, and began.

Puck wasn't swearing now. His shoulders bent and shook, but Finn knew the difference between bearing a punishment and submitting to it, and he could see the way each impact was penetrating the skin and going deep.

"My good boy," he breathed. The words meant something more now, after all they'd been through.  _He sees me. He knows me, what I am, what I need, all the ways in which I'm nothing but human - and he still chooses this, with me._  It was almost impossible to accept, but here Puck was, on his knees, his red and blistered ass bared for Finn's next stroke.

He could vaguely sense Kurt's presence beside him, not saying anything, but every now and then brushing against him, as though he might need something to hold onto, too. Finn kept his focus on Puck, on the way in which his cries were escalating, each blow bringing them closer to his goal.

"Kurt," Puck said suddenly, choking out the word, and Finn stopped mid-stroke. He waited as Kurt knelt beside him, looking into his tear-streaked face.

"I'm here," Kurt said. He still wasn't touching Puck.

"This - this is okay?" he begged. "I can have this? You, and Adam -  _and_  Finn?"

Kurt smiled, letting out a little sigh that was almost a laugh. "Yes. Anything you want. We love you so much."

Puck was shaking his head, his arms and legs buckling until he collapsed forward onto a pile on the bed. Finn set the paddle down, climbing onto the bed beside him and gathering him in his arms. The chains ran through the cuffs and the ring on his collar, but they didn't keep Finn from holding him from behind, or Kurt from kissing him while he cried.

"You... fuck," he sobbed. "Just - fuck."

Kurt, kissing his face with care and love, just made Puck cry harder, but when he felt Finn's erection pressing up against his ass, his cries turned to groans.

"We don't have to do anything more," Finn assured him, stifling the rutting of his hips. "This doesn't need to be about anything other than discipline."

But Puck laughed aloud through his tears, reaching to pull Kurt closer. "It sure as hell is about something else for  _me._  I can't separate the sex and the spanking. I want both. Please, please... ?"

Kurt looked at Finn over Puck's shoulder.  _And just like that, he can ask for it again,_  said Kurt's amazed expression.  _We really did help him._ But his response aloud was simply, "Yes, sweetheart, anything you want."

Finn was aware of the strong, sexually dominant response Kurt typically had after spanking Puck, the way he claimed him, but Kurt didn't appear to be desiring anything like that tonight. If anything, he seemed content to watch Finn and Puck interact, but Finn had to be sure. He brushed Kurt's face with one tense hand. "Baby, what about what  _you_  want?"

Kurt looked peacefully contemplative. "I'm happy," he murmured. "It's not that I don't want him, or you, but... I don't know, something about seeing the two of you together again... that's really what I want."

That was all Finn needed to hear. Seeing Puck literally bound to the bed, unable to touch himself or assist in any way, completely helpless - that did unexpected things to Finn. With a growl, he leaned over him, burying his face in Puck's neck, biting him hard. Puck cried out again, wordlessly begging.

"So hot," Kurt moaned, reaching down with one hand. Whatever he was doing was making Puck rock into him more firmly, thrusting with increasing speed the harder Finn bit down. When Finn brought his own hand around to twist Puck's nipple ring, Puck's breathless pleas changed to gasps. Kurt backed away, giving them a little space. Now Finn could see Kurt's hand inside his own pajama pants, moving quickly, his face flushed. "He's close, already."

"So are you, baby," said Finn. He turned his mouth into Puck's ear, demanding, "Lube?"

"F-floor by the bed," Puck stammered. Finn reached over with one arm, fumbling under the edge of the mattress until he found the bottle. He pressed Puck against the bed, careful not to put too much pressure on his raw behind, spreading him open with two long, slippery fingers. Kurt took it all in, his eyes not moving from Finn's hands between Puck's ass cheeks.

"You want to wait?" Finn asked Kurt, stroking himself just enough to get himself slick. "Come with us?"

Kurt's breath caught, and he nodded, slowing the pace of his hand. "Yeah... I think I can do that."

It would have been easy to grant Kurt the permission to come any time, but Finn knew the way Kurt had submitted to him tonight, that suggestion might have put him over the edge. He turned his focus to Puck, positioning himself behind him.  _It won't take long, for either of us._

Placing both hands on Puck's hips, he held him steady, lifting him up. "Noah."

"Fuck, man," Puck whined. "You don't call me that."

"I did. I used to. When we were boys. My best friend." He nudged into him, as slowly as he could. "God, I loved you then. Even then, you were my boy."

Puck took one strangled breath, and his hips pumped back suddenly as he shouted, "God,  _Finn."_

Kurt's eyes rolled closed as his own hand on his cock sped up, his other hand holding his pajama pants out of the way and cupping his balls at the same time. It wasn't more than fifteen seconds later that he was spilling over his own fist. The sight nearly did Finn in, but he waited, impossibly, incredibly, still kneeling almost motionless over Puck.

He reached forward and grasped the chain they'd fed through the collar around his neck, tugging it taut enough to make Puck gasp. "Mine."

"Yours," he choked, hands splayed against the mattress, clutching at nothing. "Please."

In that moment, Finn felt more words threatening to pour forth, words making ridiculous promises to both of them. He managed to hold the words off, knowing that  _this_  was not the time to bring up questions that required rational answers. "Always," was all he could manage, before he came inside his boy.

He was conscious of himself chuckling as he recovered, sprawled over Puck's legs and wedged in against the wall and the mattress. Kurt opened curious, lazy eyes, smiling at Finn as he kissed Puck's head from the other side.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Just..." Finn grinned, brushing the sweat off Puck's neck. "It struck me as funny that all three of us are going to have trouble sitting tomorrow."

Puck, his eyes still closed, his cheek smashed into the bed, began to laugh. Kurt looked surprised, but he sat up, craning his neck to observe his own behind, and the expression on his face when he saw what his butt looked like sent Finn joining Puck in undignified snorts.

"Finn, I have  _pep assembly_  tomorrow," he hissed, and Puck completely lost it, howling with laughter.

"Don't worry, baby. Carl gave me some stuff to put on it. I think we'll manage." He nosed into Puck's shaking neck, kissing the bite marks he'd left there. "Might want some on these, too."

"Okay, okay, okay," Puck chanted feebly, rattling his hands in the chained cuffs, and both Kurt and Finn reached up to unhook him from the headboard. He wiped his eyes, struggling to his feet, and stumbled into the bathroom. Hearing him yelp set Finn off all over again. "Jesus fucking christ, Hudson, what did you  _do_  to me?"

Kurt put a hand on Finn's back, gingerly touching his thighs. His expression was awed. "Sweetheart, Finn's worse off than any of us. I think we'd better not complain."

Puck actually had another set of sheets, which was good, considering the bed was a morass of bodily fluids. He paused in the doorway, holding the pile of clean linen. "Uh, you guys are planning to stay here tonight, right?"

"I already asked your dad," Finn assured Kurt, who was looking worried, "and he said okay. I just have to call my mom. Honestly, I think she'll be happy to hear how we're doing."

Finn wasn't wrong. He judiciously chose not to sit while he watched Puck and Kurt change the sheets, feeling the satisfied smile come over his face.  _My boys,_  he thought, and somehow Blaine was there in the room with them, too. It was enough to make him downright smug.

His mom picked up on it right away. "I'd feel better if you were at one of our houses at night," she said, "but I'm so pleased the three of you came to some understanding."

Finn took a long breath. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I think we'll be okay here tonight. It feels... like home."

* * *

<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vKpytpL_X5s> 

 _My mind is a warrior,_  
 _My heart is a foreigner,_  
 _My eyes are the colour of red like a sunset,_  
 _I'll never keep it bottled up and_  
 _Left to the hands of the coroner,_  
 _Be a true heart not a follower,  
_ _We're not done yet._

 _and I see it in your movements tonight,_  
 _If we should ever do this right,_  
 _I'm never gonna let you down,_  
 _Oh I'll never let you down,_  
 _But I'll keep it on the down low_  
 _And I'll keep you around so I'll know_  
 _That I'll never let you down,  
_ _I'll never let you down._

 _You're strumming on my heart strings like you were a grade 8 but I've never felt this way,_  
 _I'll pick your feet up off of the ground and never ever let you down,_  
 _You're strumming on my heart strings like you were a grade 8 but I've never felt this way,  
_ _I'll pick your feet up off of the ground and never ever let you down,_

 _My eyes are a river filler,_  
 _This drink is a liver killer,_  
 _My chest is a pillow for your weary head to lay to rest again,_  
 _Your body is my ballpoint pen_  
 _And your mind is my new best friend,  
_ _Your eyes are the mirror to take me to the edge again_

_\- Ed Sheeran, "Grade 8"_


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma makes a step forward. Finn takes Puck into the bathroom again. Kurt overhears a conversation. Puck has another dream. Finn celebrates his seventeenth birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter comes with several big apologies. I'm not a therapist. I'm not a professional Dominant, either. I have no experience with OCD, other than witnessing it in some of my friends. I have no basis by which to claim that mental/emotional disorders can or should be treated in the ways I discuss here. Your mileage may vary. Warning for discipline - of Puck, not Emma - and quoting from 1.16 Home.
> 
> -amy

Emma doubted that Figgins would have remembered that he hadn't been the one to come up with the idea of students leaving their backpacks in the hallway outside the gym on pep assembly days. It was a logical idea for them not to bring them in, considering what they could conceal inside, but their lockers were too narrow to hold backpacks. It had been Emma who'd casually suggested a teacher monitor the backpacks in the hallway during the assemblies, and it was no effort at all to maneuver things so that she could be the one doing the monitoring. Not for all the assemblies; just the ones that were particularly loud and sexual and demonstrative of all the things she was unable to tolerate.

Now, idly shifting the backpacks with her feet to make sure the rows were evenly balanced on either side of the audiotirium entrances, she wished today she  _hadn't_  volunteered. Because she could hear Mercedes singing, and the rest of the Glee club backing her up, and it sounded  _amazing._  Emma hugged her sweater-clad elbows and trembled inside, listening to the words of the song:

_Every day is so wonderful_  
 _And suddenly it's hard to breathe_  
 _Now and then I get insecure_  
 _From all the pain, I'm so ashamed_  
 _I am beautiful no matter what they say  
_ _Words can't bring me down..._

It was almost unbearable to admit to herself that, even all these weeks after Ken had left her, even after Will, her dear WIll, had done his best to make her feel desirable, that she barely had any days in which she even felt acceptable. She had no concept of her body, her very self being adequate - and why should she, when it so clearly failed her every day?

 _You could let Ken kiss you, could tolerate that from him,_  Emma thought desperately, huddling more closely in on herself,  _but you couldn't allow Will to do that. You couldn't let him close enough to learn just how imperfect you are._ Somehow her situation hadn't seemed so painful until she'd tried to have a regular date with a regular guy, to touch and be touched and - she shuddered. Now it was worse than before.

The students flooded out around her, collecting their bags, and Emma did her usual careful step-dance to avoid being jostled by hundreds of teenagers. Will was smiling, his eyes bright and sad. She saw him gesture subtly, and followed him around the corner toward her office.

"What happened?" she asked, though she wasn't sure she wanted to know. "It didn't sound like an ordinary pep assembly."

"It wasn't," Will agreed. "Mercedes rocked the house with some Christina Aguilera. I'm pretty sure it was a surprise to Kurt, too - he just stood there, while the rest of the Cheerios sang backup."

Emma smiled despite herself. "Quinn and Santana sang  _backup_  to Mercedes?"

"Everybody in Glee went up and sang backup. You would have been proud of them." He sounded like he was on the verge of crying.

"Will, what's happening?"

He waited for a gathering of students to pass them on their way out the door before answering. "It's Toby. He thinks - things that aren't true, and I can't explain it to him."

"Things." Emma swallowed, rocking back on her heels. "About me? About - what we did? Didn't?"

"No. Kind of. I don't think he wants to listen to excuses. I keep trying to call but he won't talk to me..." Now the tears were coming, and Emma braced herself before opening her arms to Will, holding him while he sobbed.

"Shhh," she soothed, patting his back awkwardly. "You'll get through to him. He loves you, more than anything. I could see that right away."

After a few moments, Will wiped his eyes, looking embarrassed. "You know, after Terri and I got married, Toby and I didn't see one another for almost three years. When I finally built up enough courage to go after him, I made him promise he would never run from me again. I - it's childish and petty, but I'm pissed that he's doing it anyway."

"I'm really sorry," she said, and she meant it. She felt terrible to think she might be the cause, even a small cause, of what was happening between Will and Toby.

But it wasn't the totality of what Emma meant by  _sorry,_  and the rest of it made her feel guilty enough that she couldn't handle thinking about it until she'd said goodbye to Will and climbed into her car and driven the six turns and thirteen and a half blocks to her tidy little house. It was only after she was sitting in her chair with her cup of tea - chamomile, with exactly half a teaspoon of honey - that she could admit to herself the selfish part of her  _sorry._

Because she was sorry for herself, too, for being so alone in the world. For never having the kind of relationship with a man that Will had with Toby. For being so stuck in her own "freaky deaky" world that she couldn't  _live_  life, just watch it go by like a bizarre, distant dream.

She didn't want to watch that dream any more.

Emma set her tea down on the side table hard enough that it spilled. She only took a moment to get a towel and clean it up, then to rinse the towel in the sink eight times and hang it to dry. Then she went right to her computer and opened up a new window, typing in the query she'd entered so many times before:  _holistic treatment emotional disorder._

She knew several of the links by heart, just by reading their summaries. Some of the methods were familiar - she was a counselor, after all. She'd been to self-help groups in the past, but talking about her situation with strangers felt more indulgent than useful. She'd experimented with nutritional and diet-related therapies, but none of them seemed to address her particular concerns. Her minister, though a very kind and thoughtful lady, had nothing to offer her that she couldn't come up with on her own.  _Perhaps I'll try art therapy this time,_  Emma thought, mousing over the links on page six.

And then she noticed a link she didn't remember seeing before. She clicked on it. It appeared to be an abstract of a clinical paper about a fringe treatment for obsessive-compulsive disorder, written by a Leroy Berry, M.S.W., Ph.D. Some kind of aversion therapy, although the methodology was somewhat unusual. The inset box at the bottom of the page listed an email address and a contact phone number. Intrigued, Emma opened up a second tab, linking to the Ohio State University library to look up the complete paper from the citation.

When she was done reading, it was well past time to begin cooking dinner. Before she left the computer, she typed out a brief email to Dr. Berry, mentioning the paper and her interest in the methods he'd presented.

Emma cooked her Thursday night meal, chicken piccata with sixteen capers evenly distributed between the two cuts of meat, and five organic brussels sprouts, peeled down to slim nubs - the outside leaves were far too dirty to be eaten without hours of scrubbing. When she returned to her computer later that evening, she was surprised to find a response from Dr. Berry.

 _Ms. Pillsbury,_ the message said,  _I'd be happy to discuss this study with you in more depth. In my current practice, however, I tend to stick with more conventional therapies, as my clients seldom require modalities this intense. I do have a colleague and friend in our area who employs such strategies in his practice. He's not a therapist, but he does related work and his experiences might be valuable to you. You can contact him at derekstw@email.com. Please feel free to email either of us with more questions - Leroy_.

Emma wrote two responses. The first was a quick thank you to Dr. Berry; the second was a cool inquisitive note to Derek, similar to the one she'd originally sent.

Then she paused.  _Had his message said "our area?"_  With trepidation, she searched for  _Dr. Leroy Berry Ohio_ ,and blanched when she saw the photo of Rachel's darker-skinned father appear on her screen. He'd recognized her name, it seemed. No, she would not be asking the parent of a student at her school for more details about a method of therapy such as this. Let Dr. Berry believe her inquiry was a professional one, and leave it at that.

After the kitchen was spotless, Emma spent the rest of her evening reading about the history of aversion therapy. She also, with a certain amount of disbelief, skimmed a few reasonably well-written web sites about disciplinary spanking among consenting adults. It wasn't pornography, although she was left with a certain sense that she was investigating something naughty. No, not just naughty.  _Nasty._  It left her looking behind her shoulder, somewhat breathlessly, to make sure she wasn't being watched.

By the time she was done, Emma had read rather a lot more about the opinion among therapists regarding domestic discipline than she'd expected to find. She also had a response from Derek. She wasn't sure what "stw" stood for, but she was pretty sure it wasn't his last name. A title, perhaps? A brief query turned up nothing obvious.

 _Happy to meet to answer questions,_  Derek's message said.  _There's a munch at Java the Hut in Columbus on Saturday. If that's not too far for you, you'd be welcome._

A "munch" sounded a little distasteful, but not wanting to be considered rude, Emma thanked him for his offer and told him she'd consider it. He wrote back right away.

_We're harmless. Hope to see you there. I'll be the devastatingly handsome one in the grey shirt._

She rolled her eyes at the comment, but oddly enough, it made her feel more at ease. An ordinary man, being as ordinarily obnoxious as that, was not nearly so scary.

* * *

The pep assembly had been the first time since they'd joined the Cheerios that Kurt had hugged Mercedes. He hadn't realized how much he missed her hugs. At Glee rehearsal at the roller rink that afternoon, he made sure to tug her hand onto the floor during the couple skate. Her surprised smile was more healing to his heart than her words of forgiveness had been.

"You're a lot faster than I am," he warned her, struggling to keep up.

Mercedes laughed, circling around to face away from him, skating backward with ease. "It's not quite the same thing, but four years of ice skating lessons do help. I thought you would be skating with Puck?"

Kurt watched Puck across the rink, working the bravado angle with Santana and Britt, but it was clear he was a lot more bluster than skill on roller skates. It made him smile.

"We'll catch up to one another. He's in... a good space right now. He can spare me for a few circuits." He clasped Mercedes' arm more firmly. "Come on; I'm determined not to fall down until they play some ABBA."

Everybody seemed to be in good spirits, but none more than Rachel and Jesse, who were falling all over each other laughing as they skated together. Kurt made a face as they flew by, hand in hand while they rounded the corner.

"That is the single most unfortunate situation I've seen all week," he said. Mercedes watched them skate away.

"I hate to say it," she said, shrugging, "but Rachel looks really happy. I wouldn't say I'm her biggest fan, but why would I want to interfere with that? She's a lot easier to deal with when she's not angsting over Finn. I'd think you'd be thrilled she's got somebody else."

 _More secrets,_  thought Kurt unhappily. But this one wasn't his to tell, and Puck had made him promise not to tell anybody else. Even Finn didn't know the truth of Jesse and Rachel's relationship. Judging by their behavior, Kurt was pretty sure Rachel, at least, didn't know either. Jesse was harder to read, but then, he barely knew the boy.

"I don't trust him," he said finally. "I think he's going to screw her over, and where will that leave us when it comes to competing against Vocal Adrenaline? Toby and Sh- Mrs. Corcoran are working their collective tails off, and we've just got... Mr. Schue."

Kurt's gaze fell on their director, seated off the edge of the rink with April Rhodes. He hadn't looked happy in days, but Kurt thought today he'd appeared particularly morose.

"You think something's going on with him and Toby?" Mercedes murmured, leaning in close as they went around the turn.

"I don't know. Toby was pretty circumspect the last time I called him, but he seemed okay. I think it's just Mr. Schue being Mr. Schue. Sometimes I think he's worse than the teenagers he teaches when it comes to drama."

She hooted. "In your dreams is Mr. Schue  _ever_  going to rival you and your love life!"

But Kurt wasn't listening. He'd caught sight of Puck, apparently haranguing Jesse while he knelt by Rachel's skate, tightening it. He started for them before he thought better of it, but Mercedes grabbed his arm.

"Ohhh, no," she said. "You ain't gonna get in the middle of this cockfight."

Kurt reluctantly tugged his arm away. "I have to," he insisted. "He's -"  _My responsibility,_  he wanted to say, but the words wouldn't make any sense to vanilla, egalitarian Mercedes. "He won't resist the urge to piss Jesse off, and I'm the only one he'll listen to. I have to do something."

As they approached, they could hear both Puck's voice rising and Jesse's own quiet responses. "You don't know what the hell you're talking about," Jesse was saying.

"The fuck I don't," Puck shot back. "Rachel might be loud and bossy, but she's  _our_  star, and you're not going to blow this chance for her, or us."

Kurt opened his mouth to say something, though he had no idea what it was going to be, but was interrupted by Finn stepping in between Puck and Jesse.

"Come on, man," he said to Puck.

Rachel was watching Finn like she wasn't sure if she should defend Jesse or cry, but Puck's sneer was evident, even across the room. "You're really going to let this dickwad drag Rachel around like she's -"

"Puck," Finn said, more sharply this time, though still not loudly.

Kurt saw Puck freeze for a brief moment before brushing him off, fuming, then heading back onto the rink. He doubted anyone else would have seen the response, unless they'd known what they were looking for.

Finn, meanwhile, turned to Jesse and Rachel. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Rachel said magnanimously. "He can't say anything that would have an impact, anyway. He just doesn't understand."

The hard way Rachel looked at Finn - like she honestly thought that Puck  _didn't_  understand the way she was feeling - made Kurt's teeth ache. Finn, on the other hand, responded by going even more impassive, watching Rachel huddle against Jesse from his lofty height. Then he shook his head, turned and walked away in the direction Puck had gone. Britt and Santana, pausing in their skating to watch the interaction, continued on their way, but not before Kurt saw the thoughtful expression on Santana's face.

Kurt turned on Jesse. It took all the self-control he had inside himself not to snap at him. Jesse actually blanched, then helped Rachel to her feet, giving her a kiss on the cheek. "I think, after that, I need some emergency carbs. Would you get us a hot pretzel?"

Rachel visibly softened, smiling at him. "Sure." She skated off toward the snack bar. Jesse watched her go. Not for the first time, Kurt found himself wishing he knew  _just_  how much Jesse knew.

"I still haven't figured out your angle here," Kurt said quietly. "And I don't really care enough about Rachel to work too hard at it. But Noah is right. You are  _not_  going to ruin this year for the New Directions."

Jesse's mouth set into a wry line. "Would you believe I actually care about her?"

"Maybe." Kurt considered him. "There are... people we care about by default."

He watched Jesse's eyes widen fractionally. It wasn't definitive proof of anything, but it was enough to let Kurt know he'd hit a nerve. He wasn't going to push any further than that in a public place, though; he turned back to Mercedes.

"I should check in with Noah," he said. She shook her head.

"He went into the mens' room. Finn's in there with him."

 _Oh, god._  It was Kurt's turn to tense up, but Mercedes took his hand firmly, giving it a little jiggle.

"You don't have to be in charge  _all_ the time, you know."

Kurt unsuccessfully smothered an hysterical laugh. "No," he said finally. "You're right. I don't. I might need to be reminded of that a couple times over the next fifteen minutes, though."

She gave him a strange look that made him laugh harder. "Sometimes I really don't understand you."

"I get that, but - trust me, Mercedes, we're not having that conversation in the middle of Rinky Dinks. Let's skate."

* * *

Finn felt like he was some kind of mutant sheep dog, following Puck around the roller rink. Every time he made a move in any direction, Puck went the opposite way, making it look natural enough so that he simply appeared to be flitting from pair to pair as he skated around and around the rink. But Finn knew he was avoiding him.

Finally Finn just stopped on the edge and waited for Puck to come around again. Puck didn't make eye contact with him, but he made a beeline for the mens' room, barely stumbling on his skates as he exited the rink. Finn found his own tension mounting as he took the backwards quarter-turn around the edge to join him.

The bathroom was two stalls and a urinal, but there was a lock on the door, and after checking to make sure there was no one else in there with them, Finn employed it. The echo of the bolt shooting home was startlingly loud.

"You might as well come out," Finn said quietly. He heard Puck's derisive snort.

"You think I have a death wish?"

Finn leaned against the sink. "I think you  _know_  when you're not thinking clearly. I think it's been so long, you've forgotten what it's like to ask for help."

The door to the stall opened, and Puck stuck his head out to stare incredulously at Finn. "I was standing up for  _your_  fucking girlfriend."

"She's not my girlfriend." The words kind of hurt to say, but Finn wasn't going to dwell on it. Rachel had made her choice, and now they had to save her from it. "And making a public scene with Jesse isn't the way to fix things."

The  _fuck-you_  line on Puck's forehead made Finn relax somewhat. Yeah, it had been a while, but this was familiar territory. He'd been helping Puck deal with his stubborn impulsiveness since long before they were sleeping together. Finn moved a foot or so closer to him, watching Puck grow more tense, but stopped short of driving him to flight.

"Rachel's not going to listen to anybody telling her what to do," said Finn. "She might not even listen to reason. She's in love with Jesse."

"But he's her  _brother,"_  Puck hissed. "That's seriously fucked up."

"Half-brother, and she doesn't know that.  _He_  doesn't know that. And, honestly, dude." Finn smiled, and Puck bristled. "You're making morality judgments about somebody else's sexuality? Pretty sure we really don't have any kind of a leg to stand on."

Puck's offended-perplexed expression made Finn want to laugh, but he resisted the urge. Instead, he took another step closer, taking advantage of Puck's distraction. He put a gentle hand on Puck's shoulder, pulling him into his body. Puck stiffened for a brief instant, then curled into Finn's chest like a leaf, letting Finn wrap his shaking form up tight.

"It's okay," Finn whispered, hanging on as Puck struggled to let go, "I'm here, it's okay, I'm gonna take care of it."

 _God_ , he thought, dizzy with anticipation. It was as though they'd never stopped doing this, this push and pull between them, as though the last month hadn't even happened. It felt as natural as breathing. Finn heard Puck let out a low moan, and he pressed his lips to Puck's temple, then moved them to graze his ear.

"My boy," he said, and felt Puck shiver in response. Whatever pretense of control Puck had been exhibiting, it was gone now. Finn gave one fervent thank you to the ingenious engineers who'd decided to put a lock on the door of the Rinky Dinks mens' room, and tightened his hold on Puck's shoulder. "Right now - jeans down, hands on the side of the stall."

Puck whipped his head up, nearly colliding with Finn's chin. "What,  _here?"_

"You're still out of control," Finn told him firmly. "We're alone in here, and safe, and the music out there is loud enough that nobody's going to hear us, no matter what kind of noise you make. I'm not going to take long, but you  _need this."_

Puck's eyes shifted rapidly from Finn's, to the sink, to the stall, and back to Finn's again. Finn slid his hand up to hold the back of Puck's neck, and he felt Puck's tension drop away as he slumped into Finn's grip. This time his moan was louder and more desperate. It took him about five seconds to unbutton his fly, shove his jeans down to his thighs and plant both palms on the stall wall. The image was sharply erotic, and Finn sucked in a breath.

"I'm not going to fuck you here," Finn said, trying to keep his voice even as he placed his hand on Puck's back. "But after this, I'm taking you home, and you're going to take what I give you." He brought his arm back, and let it connect with Puck's round cheek.

"Oh, fuck," Puck groaned, collapsing into the stall. "Oh - fuck, Finn - god, I need..." He widened his stance, then took a deep breath. "Harder. Please."

It was impossible not to lose himself a little in a request like that. Puck hadn't  _asked,_  not like that, since... well, possibly since the first time. If he was going to ask, Finn thought he might as well be begging for it. He struck him again, in the same spot, where the skin was already red. "Harder?"

" _Please,_ " Puck repeated. It sounded so much the way he begged when Finn was fucking him, it was almost impossible to tell the difference.  _Maybe there was no difference,_  Finn thought, and it drove him to put more into it than he usually would with his hand, but Puck just shook his head in desperation.

"Harder," Puck insisted.

He wasn't going to be able to do it harder with his hand. Finn cast around uselessly for something that would do the job - and his eyes landed on Puck's waist. He placed his hand on his own waist, unbuckling the brown leather belt and threading it out of its belt loops. Puck didn't seem aware of what Finn was doing until he heard the  _snap_  of leather on leather, at which point his head jerked up and around to see. When he saw the belt in Finn's hands, his eyes got huge and he made a sound, like  _ohhh._

"Hold still," Finn said, adjusting his stance and measuring the distance with his arm. For a moment, he was paralyzed by doubt.  _Fuck. I've hit Puck with a flogger and a paddle and my bare hand, and my fists, but I've never been the kind of monster who'd hit him with a fucking belt._ And even so, the quiet, certain voice inside him was more compelling than the fear. He swallowed, hoping with all his might this didn't turn out to be a terrible, terrible mistake. "Just... I'm sorry to ask you this, I just have to be sure, you  _really -?"_

"Finn," Puck pleaded, resting his head on the stall, sounding on the edge of tears. "I don't know how much more clear I can be."

"But you'll tell me to stop, if it's too much?" Finn said. Puck's expression was almost comical.

"I'm not going to tell you to  _stop."_

"But you might," said Finn, "you  _might_  want to, and - and I don't think I can do this if I don't know you can tell me to stop."

"Fine," he groaned, "fine, whatever - that red light-yellow light thing that Carl uses, can we just  _do_  this?"

Finn felt a icy stab of shame that he hadn't thought of using those words with Blaine, but he wasn't going to allow himself to get distracted by anything that wasn't going to help Puck, right now. "Yeah. That's good." He guessed he'd stop if Puck said  _stop,_  too, which maybe was bad form, but after what had happened, if Puck actually said that to him, it might be the only thing he  _could_  do.

He weighed the folded belt in his hand, feeling the difference between that and the flogger, and tried an awkward swat aimed at Puck's thighs. It didn't quite hit the way he wanted it to, but Puck's sigh of relief was motivating. He tried again, and the impact sounded better this time, a sharp  _slap_  against his flesh. Puck jerked forward and repositioned his legs, taking a better stance. "Again. Harder."

Finn obliged, more appreciative of the feedback than annoyed at Puck telling him what to do. This time Puck's grunt included a degree of strain, but Finn didn't wait for him to ask again. He kept each stroke rhythmic and focused, listening to Puck's response escalate, from quiet moans to clipped gasps, and finally to whimpering sobs.

Puck wasn't resisting. He was hungry for it, his fingers white as they pressed hard into the wall of the stall. Finn knew exactly how it felt to want so much to submit, to give everything, to be moved past the bounds of reason to put yourself in the hands of another person. To be permitted to be that person for Puck, for Blaine - even for Kurt, sometimes - that was the most astonishing, humbling experience. He was overwhelmed enough to drop the belt on the floor, then reach for Puck's shoulders and pull him, stumbling, into his arms.

"That's my boy," he said, letting him fall apart, stroking his skin, his back, his head, his face, any part he could reach. He wanted to say all the things he was feeling,  _so lucky, you're so good, I hope that was enough, thank you for listening to me, I'm sorry I'm not perfect, you're helping me so much, this is everything._  But he couldn't say anything else, and thankfully, Puck didn't seem to need him to.

Finn retrieved his belt and helped Puck pull up his jeans. He ignored his semi-erection, keeping his hands to himself, but kissed him briefly and held him by both shoulders at arm's length.

"You still want me to come over?" he asked. "Or was this enough?"

Puck nodded emphatically. "I want. Yeah. But -" He paused, looking at the door.

"What is it?" Finn asked.

"Kurt misses you," he said. "I'm not saying I'd turn down you in my bed, but I think he needs you more than I do right now." He smiled, looking sheepish, but calm. "At least after that."

"Yeah, that..." Finn put a hand on his chest. "The belt? That was okay? I don't mean using a tool like that on you - I think that worked just fine - but it wasn't too... it didn't freak you out?"

He searched Puck's eyes, but they were nothing but clear. "No freaking out. At least not right now. I guess I can't give you a guarantee?"

Finn nodded. "That's okay. I'm not looking for one. But if you're sure about me being with Kurt tonight, can you please, just - if you have a bad dream about the belt, or anything else, would you call me?"

Puck looked a little startled, but he nodded. "Sure."

"Okay." He gestured at the door. "I'll go out first. I'm guessing this wasn't so subtle."

Puck laughed, making Finn relax even more. "Subtle's not our strong suit, but... I think it'll be okay."

As he ducked back out into the cacophonous roller rink to find Quinn watching him with a frown, Finn couldn't help but think of another encounter with Puck, in another bathroom, back in the fall. He'd told Quinn about Kurt then, and about Puck shortly thereafter.  _Whoever's watching has got to know something's going on,_ he thought - but just as surely as he knew that, he knew he wasn't going to sacrifice giving Puck what he needed to save their reputation. Not anymore.

* * *

Kurt was relieved by the expression on Puck's face when he emerged from the bathroom. It wasn't that he didn't trust Finn's assessment of exactly what had gone on in there, but to have the evidence be so plain to his own eyes that he was calmer and more focused was reassuring. To have Finn taking care of it, too - that was even more reassuring.

"I'm relieved," he explained to Finn in the car on the way back to his house. "That I'm not the only one he has to depend on for that. I hope that doesn't sound terrible, like I'm - I don't know, shirking my responsibility or something?"

"I think it sounds like you've got a lot going on," said Finn. "That's all. You know I can relate. Sometimes I just don't want to be in charge of  _anybody."_

Kurt watched him out of the corner of his eye as he made the turn onto Findlay. "Maybe you want to be at your house alone tonight?"

"No, baby." He reached out a hand and put it on Kurt's knee. "I want to be with you."

"I'd like a chance to celebrate your birthday," Kurt admitted. "It sounds like Carl has something planned for tomorrow?"

"Something undisclosed. I figure he'll let me know when I need to know." He pulled his phone out from his pocket. "So maybe you'd like to stay with me over at my house tonight."

"Oh!" Kurt smiled. "I'd love to. Do you think Carole would be okay with that?"

"I thought I'd ask," he said, dialing Carole's number. She didn't always respond to texts, but Kurt knew she usually picked up calls right away, and today was no exception. "Hey, mom. Yeah, we're heading back from Glee practice. I really don't know how much longer Mr. Schue expects us to drive out to the roller rink for rehearsal. It's kind of a drag." He punched speakerphone and set it on the dashboard. "Um, I was wondering... would it be okay if Kurt came over to the house tonight? To stay with me?"

Carole sounded doubtful. _"I thought the point of you being over at the house was to give you space to yourself. That sounds like a mixed message to me."_

"We just need some time together. Tomorrow I'll be with Carl."

 _"I'm sorry, Finn,"_ she said firmly. _"If you want to be alone in the house, I'm okay with that, but if you want to have somebody over, you need an adult with you. I've never let you stay with a friend overnight alone."_

"But that's a total double standard," he protested, but she obviously wasn't going to listen.

_"You guys can come to the Hummel house, Finn. Otherwise, please let Kurt know he needs to drop you off and come back on his own. Understood?"_

He closed his eyes and let his head flop back on the Navigator's headrest. "Yeah, I got it."

_"Thank you, honey. You know it's not because I don't trust you. I couldn't forgive myself if something happened to Kurt in my empty house."_

"Okay," he said. "Good night, mom."

Kurt sighed, pulling into Finn's driveway as Finn thumbed off his phone. "Sorry, Finn, but I don't think we can really complain about that rule. Carole's been incredibly accommodating with everything that's happened. I mean, you didn't even get into trouble for driving down to Columbus in the middle of the week, did you?"

"I was actually kind of surprised about that, myself," Finn said. He grimaced. "Do you just want to drop me off at my house, then?"

Kurt glanced over hopefully. "I'd rather come in for a while first."

"Oh - uh. Yeah." Finn grinned. "I'm not going to argue about that."

They ended up skipping dinner altogether in favor of being naked and as loud as they wanted to be in Finn's tiny closet room. Finn waited until Kurt was stretched out underneath him before he related the story in detail of Puck in the Rinky Dinks bathroom. Kurt managed not to come until Finn got to the part about the belt. After that, Finn took his time inside of him, doing him nice and slow and deliberately a little rough, and even managed to get Kurt to come a second time before he collapsed in a sweaty heap on top of him.

"You're really good for my cardio," Finn told him, and Kurt giggled helplessly for several minutes before they both fell asleep.

It was dark outside when they woke up, Kurt pulling on one of Finn's plaid flannel shirts and stumbling down the stairs to get some food without thinking that anyone else might be there. But the light was on in the kitchen when they reached the main floor. Kurt paused on the landing.

"Let me go see," said Finn, holding out a hand. He left Kurt there in the dark hallway. There was a brief pause, then, "What are you doing here?"

"Your mom told me you were over here by yourself," said Kurt's dad's voice. Kurt froze where he was, wondering for more than a few moments if he was going to get in trouble for being at Finn's, but his dad was going on. "She said you shouldn't be here alone. So I thought we might have, you know, a man-to-man."

"You know, good, because I've got a lot to say about this," Finn said.

"Yeah, well, I don't, so... let me go first. You're pissed; I get it. Believe it or not, neither of us are trying to get in your way. I'm not trying to replace your dad, but this family that we're creating? You're part of it." Kurt could hear his dad's voice becoming shaky. He held on to the banister and didn't let go, leaning as close to the door as he could manage without being seen. "I love your mom, just like you love Kurt. Just like he loves you. I can see it. It's like... she's this angel, that came down to wake me up, after all these years? And I swear to you, I will never hurt her. No matter what happens with you guys, I will always take care of her, and Sarah - and Puck."

"Oh, god," Kurt whispered. He sank down onto the bottom stair.

"I can't be their dad, but I will be whatever they need. Just like I'm gonna be here for you. For as long as your mom'll take me."

There was silence from the kitchen. Kurt bit his lip.

"All right," sighed his dad, "I've said my piece. What did you want to say?"

"Just... I wanted to know if you wanted to watch a game."

The comment was offhand, but Kurt could hear his dad's reply was relieved. "Sure."

He heard them move through the kitchen out into the family room. Kurt followed, then ducked out the side door and came around to the sliding glass door that led inside to the family room. They'd had _hors d'oeuvre_  on the back deck, that first night in November when Kurt had brought his father over to meet Finn's mother. Sarah had been there, and Ruth. He hadn't even known Timmy existed at that time.

 _And now we're making a family together. Puck's going to be a father - a papa. Sarah and Noah are going to belong to my dad, officially. My dad's got Carole. Finn's finding his place._ Kurt swallowed, watching them toss light banter back and forth about Duke and another team he didn't recognize.  _And me? Where do I fit?_

He didn't stand out there long. It was easy enough to sneak back into the house under the cover of the basketball game and struggle back into his Cheerios uniform, gather his messenger bag, and head home. He left Finn a text, saying,  _Happy birthday, Finn. Thank you for the lovely evening. I'll see you tomorrow._

He called Adam on the way home, as he usually did around this time of night. Lately he'd been leaving more and more messages instead of getting him in person, which Kurt knew he should expect, given Adam's schedule with the press and his work in the studio. There was even talk of a tour, though there was nothing formal yet. But the impersonal beep seemed especially empty tonight, and he would have given anything to hear Adam's voice saying  _honey, it's okay._  He tried not to let his voice wobble as he spoke: "Just checking in. Things are up and down here. If I don't talk to you before you get your present in the mail tomorrow, happy birthday, and... we love you, so much."  _I miss you. Please call me, it doesn't matter how late._ He swallowed and attempted a cheerful, "Goodnight," but it just sounded fake. After some deliberation, he tried calling Puck, but there was no answer, which he'd expected.

Carole and Sarah were on the green couch when he got home, Carole knitting and Sarah sketching. He dropped his bag beside them and took a deep breath.

"Did you send my dad over to your house to talk "guy stuff" with Finn?"

Carole looked surprised, then somewhat abashed. "That wasn't exactly what I'd had in mind, no. If you must know, I was having an attack of guilt about leaving Finn over there alone, but I didn't want Finn to feel like I was checking up on him. Burt offered to go, and I said yes."

Sarah nudged the coffee table with her sneaker. "It would be a hell of a lot easier if we were all in one place."

"Yes, well, apparently trying to convince everyone to do that is a losing battle." Carole gathered up the last loose handfuls of her skein and piled them into her lap. "I think all we can do is keep giving people their space and hope they'll come around."

"I don't think that's going to work much longer with my dad," said Kurt. "Carole, he's serious about this family. I heard - what I heard, that was big stuff. You can't let him go on much longer without telling him."

Sarah paused, her ruler in one hand and her rapidograph in the other. "Tell him what?" she said slowly.

Carole looked back and forth between Kurt and Sarah, then let out an embarrassed laugh. "Kurt..."

"Sarah understands most of what we do better than most people do," he said, keeping his eyes steady. "You don't need to dumb it down for her."

"Tell him  _what?"_  she insisted.

Carole set her knitting in her lap. "It was a long time ago, Kurt. You really think this would be such a big deal to Burt?"

"Yes," he said. "Maybe not because of what you did, but because it was a big part of your past - a big part of Finn's, too. They both should know the story."

"Oh, for fuck's  _sake,"_  Sarah snapped.

"Okay!" Carole said, moving closer toward her on the couch. She sighed. "Sarah, when I was Finn's age, I got pregnant. Finn's father, Christopher, was about to enlist in the Army. He left while I went to stay with my grandparents in Atlanta until the baby was born. I was going to give it up for adoption, but during the course of the pregnancy, I fell in love." She paused, watching her face. "With a woman."

Sarah had set her sketchbook down and was watching Carole. "Okay."

"Her name was Irene. She was a counselor that worked with pregnant teen moms. She wasn't my counselor, but she became my friend, and later more than that. She helped me deal with all the feelings I had about being pregnant, and eventually I realized I didn't want to give up my baby." She smiled, her thoughts obviously far away. "When Finn was born, Irene helped me take care of him."

"So you stayed in Atlanta?" she asked.

"No. I moved back to Dayton, where my parents were, and eventually went to college. I didn't feel ready to commit to a relationship like - that." She paused, adding, "Things were different fifteen years ago. It was even harder for people to accept gay relationships. We didn't have an easy time of it even for that year we were together, a mixed race lesbian couple."

Kurt was startled. "Irene was -?"

"Black. Still is, I suspect." Carole said it like she was joking, but she didn't look very happy. "I was young and scared and I had Finn, and... I think part of me just wanted to fit in. So I left, and Irene accepted that. We saw each other a few more times when Finn was a baby, but that was all, and we eventually lost touch." She turned to Sarah. "People do that, and it's okay."

"Sure," she shrugged. "So - was that it? I mean, is there more?" She glanced at Kurt, looking confused. "What's the big deal? Why would Tatenui think that was so awful?"

"Not awful," Kurt corrected, eyeing Carole. He didn't want to say more than she was comfortable sharing. "I just meant that -"

"Sometimes," Carole interjected, "when people have important relationships in their past, it's a good idea to talk about them with the people with whom you're beginning new relationships. I know that's true, Kurt. I don't want to hide this from your dad. Any of it." She gave him a pointed look, to let him know she knew that  _he_  knew Burt needed to know the rest, too.

"I'm glad," he said. "I was about to say that change can be scary to my dad. He's kind of like Finn, I think. He wants things to be predictable."

Carole smiled at him. "We haven't had a whole lot of that around here lately, have we."

"Predictable's boring," Sarah said dismissively. She picked up her sketchpad again. "I made cookies for Finn's birthday. They're upstairs if you want one."

"I can wait until tomorrow," he said, snuggling in next to her. "It's not such a long time away."

* * *

_The baby was asleep in the Pack'n'Play. It was where Sarah had always napped, after she'd learned to crawl out of her crib. He could hear her making her little baby waking-up noises, but he knew there was a good chance she'd go back to sleep if he left her alone, so he just lay quietly on the mattress, listening._

_The bed shifted behind him, and he felt the arm tuck around him, pulling him closer. Puck touched the arm, olive-skinned covered with dark, fine hairs. He leaned into the embrace._

" _She's going to wake up," said the boy._

" _Maybe," Puck murmured. "Just wait. You trust me, right?"_

_He felt a kiss on his bare shoulder. "Always."_

_Then, in the way of dreams, she was suddenly walking, older now, her blonde curls pulled back from her face with elastics. She ran ahead of them to the window, pressing her face to the glass and turning her head this way and that, staring out at the falling, drifting snow._

" _Is Papa out in that?" she said in her sweet little-girl voice, sounding doubtful._

_The boy knelt beside her, reaching for her, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. His face was clear in the dream, just as hers was, but Puck knew he wouldn't remember either one when he woke up._

" _Yes, he's in the snowstorm," he said._

" _Can I call him?"_

" _It's too hard for him to hear. Even if you stood right across the yard and yelled at him, he wouldn't be able to understand what you were saying." The boy put his hand on the glass, and the girl mirrored him, her tiny hand looking so small next to the boy's large, strong one. "The best thing we can do is to wait for him to come back."_

_She rested her head on his shoulder. "I miss him."_

" _Me, too, baby." The boy sounded so sad. Puck wanted to go to him, to tell him_ I'm right here, _but there was something holding him back. He reached out a hand, but all he could hear was the sound of the surf, like ocean waves, crashing over and over again._

Puck woke crying, as he hadn't done in days, the dream fresh in his mind. In his just-awake state, he could remember little details of the boy's face: the curve of his lips, the bright amber-brown of his eyes, the tight curl of his hair. It was the hardest in those moments, when he could almost remember, because he had a stronger sense of what he was missing.  _He's real,_  his senses told him, his aching heart, his throbbing cock.  _He's as real as you are, and he misses you just as much._

When he fumbled for his phone to check the time (three-thirty-nine in the morning), he found two missed calls, one from Kurt from the night before, and one from Adam that had been left about an hour later. He'd already called Adam and left a quick verse of Happy Birthday on his guitar - instrumental, no stupid vocals. Blowing his nose, he listened to the messages.

"Sweetheart," said Kurt's voice, "I'm just calling to see how you're doing. Finn's back at his place watching basketball with my dad. We had a nice evening. I love you. Don't forget the balloons for Finn's locker tomorrow."

The message from Adam began so garbled, Puck couldn't understand it. But eventually it became more clear, and Puck could hear Adam's rapid patter resolve into words.

"Noah, I can't believe - there's absolutely no way you guys could have made this, just - it's impossible. Whatever magic you worked, you've got me sitting at my kitchen table, bawling my eyes out, looking at this amazing cake. You made me a  _cake."_  He laughed, high and bright and incredulous. "Noah, I don't even know what to say, except that I'm the absolute luckiest man in the world, and I really wish you could be here when I take the first bite tomorrow evening. God, how did you make it so  _shiny?_ " Puck smiled as Adam sighed happily. "I love you both so much. Two weeks, can you believe it? Anyway... I bet you'll see more pictures of this cake on the Internet tomorrow than anything else. Good night, honey."

**(Take a look at it:[http://tinyurl.com/adamscake/](http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-l3GcxUlNYz0/TiAiDprPeJI/AAAAAAAADW8/NiCbLTSKuy0/s640/adam-28th-birthday-party.jpg) )**

It was early enough in California that Puck knew he could call Adam back. He might still be up, just after midnight. But it was enough to sit there and listen to him burble at him on his voice mail before he shuffled out to the kitchen and got some water from his new water filter - courtesy Shelby. He hadn't even said anything to her about wanting one. She'd just brought it by and left it with Angela, with a note saying  _This'll make your chicken stock taste so much better._ He'd have to make soup this weekend.

Puck sat on the worn leather couch with the chains around the legs, looking out the back window over the rooftop of the buildings next door. He was going to have to get some more sleep tonight if he was going to be at all functional tomorrow night, babysitting for Brad's and Andi's and Laurie's kids. The dream was already fading from his head - all he remembered was something about his daughter and the boy, and snow. At least Adam had liked the cake.

He couldn't call Kurt; interrupting his sleep was not generally a good idea, not unless he wanted to be bitched at through the entire next day. Finn slept like the dead and even a phone call wouldn't wake him up. Then he remembered Finn's request:  _If you have a bad dream about the belt, would you call me?_  This hadn't been a bad dream, and it hadn't been about the belt, but... would he want Puck to call him, anyway? Puck considered getting into his truck, driving over to Finn's and climbing up to his window, the way he'd done so many times before, but he guessed by now that fell firmly into the "stuff worth spanking me over" category, so he figured he'd pass. There was nothing really scary about getting his ass beaten by any of the guys, but he didn't want to do something to inspire it on purpose.

So that left him back where he'd started. He pressed the callback button from Adam's message and waited for the four rings and the beep. Instead, Adam picked up.

" _Honey, are you okay?"_  he said anxiously, and Puck took one shocked breath and started to cry.

"I am," he insisted, struggling for control, "I'm okay, I just -"

" _Okay,"_  Adam said, more calmly now, " _it's all right, I'm listening. Are you by yourself, Noah?"_

"Yeah. Everybody's asleep, but... they took care of me, really. I just had a weird dream and I'm having trouble getting back to sleep." He wiped his eyes. "Fuck. What's new."

" _I'm not worried about that, honey. You're doing exactly what you should do. Tell me about your dream?"_

"I can't even remember it now. The usual suspects. You know."

" _Yeah, I know. All the people who make it feel like home, and who aren't there."_

That made Puck pause and think. "Huh. Yeah, maybe? But Kurt, too, and Finn. And - I really miss Sarah. I think I miss her most." He sniffed. "If you don't count the sex."

" _It's been less than a week. Do you think Finn's ready to give being at Kurt's another try, or is he appreciating the time apart?"_

"I have no fucking clue," he sighed. "I guess I should ask."

" _And what about you?"_

Puck tucked his legs underneath himself, resting his head on the arm of the couch. "What about me what?" he asked, even though he knew exactly what Adam was talking about.

" _Are you ready to go try to make Kurt's house your home again?"_

He closed his eyes. "I don't know."

" _What would be the worst thing that could happen, if you tried?"_

"I'd run away again," he said. "If it got too bad."

" _But what if you didn't do that?"_

Puck squirmed at the thought. "You mean, what if I couldn't run?"

" _No, honey. What if you chose not to run? What would be the worst thing, then?"_

"I'd fuck up and fail everybody." It was hard to bury his face in the leather couch cushion, but he pressed his cheek there anyway,

" _Do you remember you have permission to do that any time? With me, or Kurt, or Finn. We actually want to take care of you. Kurt said it to me on the phone just last night."_

Puck smiled, his eyes still closed, and tucked his knees into his chest, so he was curled into a ball. "You got to talk to him, huh?"

" _He sounded too sad to let me leave it at voice mail. Unlike you, Noah, who sounded - really satisfied."_  Adam managed to leer a little over the phone.  _"You're feeling a little better now?"_

"Mmmm."

" _You think you could try sleeping again?"_

"M'on the couch. Comf'tble."

" _Okay, honey."_  Puck felt his smile, warm and approving, like a mitzvah. " _I'm so proud of you."_

Puck didn't really get that part, how Kurt and Adam and Finn were always telling him they were proud, when it seemed like he barely could get through a whole day without fucking up. But he knew better by now than to argue with them, and it felt good anyway, even if he was pretty sure he didn't actually deserve it. "Thanks. Love you."

" _I love you too. Good night."_

The dreams came back, chasing his restless sleep, with scattered images of his daughter and the boy mixed in with Adam and Burt and Finn. The belt never made an appearance, though, and it occurred to him the next morning, as he was blowing up balloons for Finn's locker, that his dad never showed up in his dreams anymore.  _Guess my family's a little too crowded to leave room for him, anymore,_ he thought. It was a comforting idea.

* * *

[ _http://youtu.be/R4NbPkYQtJc_ ](http://youtu.be/R4NbPkYQtJc)

_When I think of home_  
 _I think of a place where there's love overflowing_  
 _I wish I was home  
_ _I wish I was back there with the things I been knowing_

_Wind that makes the tall grass bend into leaning_  
 _Suddenly the raindrops that fall have a meaning_  
 _Sprinklin' the scene, makes it all clear_  
 _Maybe there's a chance for me to go back there_  
 _Now that I have some direction_  
 _It would sure be nice to be back home_  
 _Where there's love and affection_  
 _And just maybe I can convince time to slow up_  
 _Giving me enough time in my life to grow up  
_ _Time be my friend, let me start again_

_Suddenly my world has changed it's face_  
 _But I still know where I'm going_  
 _I have had my mind spun around in space  
_ _And yet I've watched it growing_

_If you're list'ning God_  
 _Please don't make it hard to know_  
 _For us to believe in the things that we see_  
 _Tell us, should we run away_  
 _Or should we try and stay  
_ _Or would it be better just to let things be?_

_Living here, in this brand new world_  
 _Might be a fantasy_  
 _But it taught me to love_  
 _So it's real, real, real to me_  
 _And I've learned_  
 _That we must look inside our hearts_  
 _To find a world full of love_  
 _Like yours_  
 _Like mine  
_ _Like home..._

_\- Diana Ross, "Home"_

* * *

Finn received the message in the middle of American history, just a notice that there was something for him in the office. He glanced at Puck and Kurt briefly before heading to the door. Kurt was absorbed in his reading, but Puck gave him a questioning eyebrow, tapping his pencil. Finn just had to shrug. He didn't know what it was, either.

He didn't  _know,_  but he thought he might be able to  _guess._

His guess was further confirmed when he saw Angela sitting in the office. She looked right at home in the office environment, but the juxtaposition of the old familiar world of school and the still-new, heart-thumping world of Carl was almost too much for Finn's brain. He sat down next to her, smiling tentatively. "Hi."

"Hi... Finn." Her eyes danced.  _It still makes her laugh_ not _to call me sir,_  he thought, smiling back.

"Is it weird to be here?" he wanted to know.

"Kind of," she admitted in a whisper. "But it's kind of fun, too." She handed him a folded note, printed on maroon marbled paper. "This is to be read and returned to me. I'll wait."

He opened the note slowly, feeling the familiar combination of anticipation and fear. He watched her face for cues, but she just sat there, passive and calm. "Okay," he muttered, and read the handwritten lines:

_Go home directly after school. You are not to call or text anyone once you leave. You'll find your present on your bed. Bring it to my office and prepare yourself. I expect you in room six, cuffed to the table, wearing your present, by four-thirty. Don't be late._

He pulled the paper to his chest, feeling the blood leave his face and travel elsewhere in his body.

"Angela," he said faintly.

"Don't tell me," she said. "It's not my business." She reached out and tucked a pen into his hand. "I have to take this back with your signature."

He signed the bottom in a daze and handed it back to Angela. She nodded her thanks and stood to go. "Finn?"

"Yes?"

"Happy birthday."

* * *

"What do you think it is?" he heard Kurt murmur to Puck behind him, in the midst of April Rhodes' solo.

"I don't know," Puck whispered back. "Could be anything."

"Would you  _shut up,_  already," Finn said through gritted teeth.

There were definite disadvantages to having his two boyfriends be out with each other at school. They always sat together in Glee, for one thing, and even though they weren't holding hands or anything, everybody accepted this as normal. Which meant  _they_  got to talk to each other. And now that things were okay between the three of them, of course they would be talking about  _him._

"What could he want him to  _wear?"_  Kurt mused. "A shirt... a tie? Not a scarf. Though he'd look good in one."

"Dude, you're thinking way too tame," he heard Puck say with amusement. "Try a ball gag."

Kurt's chuckle was obliterated by the entirely too appealing image in Finn's head. Okay, it was  _Puck_  wearing the gag, not him, but that was beside the point.  _It's my fucking imagination,_  he thought, crossing his arms restlessly.  _Dammit._

"Mmm, maybe not," Puck went on under his breath. "A harness, maybe. Oh, I know..."

" _Shut... up..."_  he said again, a little louder this time. He knew he could use the Voice, and Puck would do what he wanted - probably - but it wasn't something that Finn had tried at school, not since the fight. He wasn't anxious to get back to that place with them. It seemed that something about what had gone down in California had changed things between them. It wasn't that Puck didn't listen to what he had to say. Rather, he seemed to have more of a choice about how to respond. Half the time he chuckled and went along with Finn's suggestions, but now things were more equal between them. It was almost a relief, Finn told himself firmly, not to have that power over his best friend. And Puck got plenty of guidance from Kurt and Adam, so he wasn't worried. Not really.

It was somewhat distressing how, these days, Finn was quivering and leaping to obey Carl's instructions as often as he was giving them to anyone else.  _And the Voice apparently works just fine on written paper._  He shivered.  _A harness? Jesus Christ._

"But what if it's something confusing?" Kurt was saying. "Too many buckles? Hooks in the back? No, I think we should go home with him and help him get ready."

"What -  _what?_  No!" Finn twisted around on the riser to stare, open-mouthed, at Kurt. Puck was smirking at him.

"Everything okay, Finn?" Mr. Schue's voice was mild, but  _he_ , at least, commanded some tiny degree of appropriate response from his students.

"Uh, yeah - sorry," he said, with one final glare at Kurt.  _No,_  he mouthed.

 _Oh yes,_  replied Puck innocently.

Finn could feel the ridiculous blush lurking at the collar of his shirt, ready to ambush him at any mention of certain key words.  _Boy_ and _dentist_  were at the top of the improbable list.  _Ball gag_ and _harness_  were now apparently penciled in at the bottom. He wiped the sweat off his brow. Sometimes he couldn't quite believe this had become his life.

When April's beautiful song was over, Kurt approached him from one side and took his arm, and Puck gripped his shoulder on the other. "No," Finn said firmly, or as firmly as he could while whispering. That was apparently all he could manage. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Really, guys - no thank you, but I can do this by myself."

"Really?" Puck ran his eyes up and down Finn with shameless familiarity. "You've got to be kidding. Tell me you can get to your house, shower, put on whatever he wants you to wear and make it to his office by four-thirty on the bus."

Finn closed his eyes on the stab of anxiety. "It'll be fine. I can be a few minutes late..."

"No way," Puck insisted. They walked him right out the door and toward his locker. The  _Happy 17th Birthday Finn_  balloons and streamers still festooned the hallway right above it, but Finn didn't have the energy to do anything about them. Kurt snagged one and tied it to his wrist. "Finn, whatever he's got planned for you, it's going to blow your freaking mind. Trust me, you don't want to be late for something like that. I'll give you a ride."

It made sense, since Puck was living in the apartment next door to Carl's office. Finn couldn't refute his logic - which, considering this was  _Puck,_  was saying something. He leaned in against the cool bank of lockers, resting his head on the wall, and gave a little groan.

"What is it, Finn?" asked Kurt quietly. "Don't tell me you're embarrassed."

"Yes, I'm  _embarrassed,_ " Finn muttered. He stuffed his American history book into his backpack and zipped it shut with a jerk. "I can't believe he sent me a note like  _that._  At  _school._ "

Puck grinned, crossing his arms. "Dude. I think it's all kinds of awesome. He's clearly got something planned for you. Can't you just enjoy it?"

Finn glanced at Kurt's concerned expression, then at Puck's cheeky smile. "What if I - " He swallowed. "What if I don't enjoy it? What if he asks me to do something I don't want to do?"

"Has that happened yet?"

Finn felt his agitation ratchet up a notch. "No, but... it  _could._  It could, and what if it happens  _today_ , and I - and I don't want to do whatever it is he wants me to do? And then he's going to - he'll be..." He made himself take a deep breath. "I don't want him to be disappointed." Kurt and Puck exchanged a look. "What?" Finn protested.

"I'll meet you guys at Finn's," Puck said to Kurt, and leaned in for a quick kiss. "Maybe you can talk him down, baby. I don't think he'll listen to me."

"See you soon, sweetheart," Kurt said, smiling, and watched him walk away. Then he turned back to Finn with a calm, decisive expression. "You're  _not_  going to disappoint him. He  _loves_  you. He wouldn't do anything you didn't like."

Finn let the events of the last five weeks filter through his memory. Like he was panning for gold, certain events came sifting to the surface: Carl with the suede flogger, before they'd even exchanged words of affection. Carl in his office, that first night he'd taken him over his knee, and later, in his house, on his bed. Their weekends at the open mic in Irene's coffeehouse in Columbus, and Patrick. All the things Carl had shown him about having the courage to be in charge again, and what it really felt like to... to belong to someone.

"No," he whispered. "He hasn't done anything that I didn't want."

"Then what -?" Kurt looked completely mystified. Finn grabbed his backpack and closed his locker.

"Can we talk about this in your car?" he pleaded, looking back and forth nervously. "Because this is a little... public."

"Of course," Kurt said, not questioning Finn's logic, even though the hallway was almost empty, even though they'd had plenty of similar conversations right there next to Finn's locker, in the men's bathroom, upstairs in their attic room. Finn didn't feel particularly logical just then. He strode through the hallway, knowing he was forcing Kurt to hurry to keep up with his long legs, but far too antsy to care.

It wasn't until he had slammed the door of the Navigator and was sitting securely in the seat that he faced Kurt. He knew his cheeks were red, but this was  _Kurt,_  and he could tell him anything.

"Carl and me," he said. "You know we've done... a lot of things. He's been amazing, I can't even tell you."

"I know." Kurt held out his hand, and Finn took it. "You've shown me some of them."

"Yeah. And... there are some things we haven't done. I mean, at all. Things that you and I do, and I'd really  _like_  to do with him, but..." He sighed in frustration. "He won't."

Kurt pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Won't, ever? Or won't yet?"

"Yet, he says. I don't know. Tess told me I have to be patient, that it... that it could be  _years._ It seems like it might as well be never." Finn stared out the window at the football field, the students walking by. Everything seemed so easy around him, compared to his life. "But I don't know what he's planning today."

"You think it might be one of those things?"

"No," Finn said. "He said not until I'm eighteen. But... if it's not that, then what  _could_  it be?"

Kurt laughed. "You really think you have a sense of how many things he hasn't taught you yet? Finn, really. I remember wondering last December,  _are there more things out there, that I haven't done yet?_  And then I went to California, and Adam..." He shook his head, still smiling. "There's... a lot of things, Finn. Things we have no idea even exist. And Carl knows about  _all of them_."

"God," Finn whimpered, and his head swam at the thought. "It's too much. I can't... I'm not cut out for this, Kurt."

Kurt turned his knowing smile on him. "Oh, yes, you are. It's so clear. I knew it from the first day you went to his office and he took care of you. The change in you - it's palpable." He chuckled at Finn's blank look. "I can feel it," he clarified.

"Yeah?" Finn was still dubious. "I mean, yeah, I guess I can see how it's been good for me, but..."

"But nothing." Kurt took his hand and kissed it. "The two of you together, it's nothing short of magical. When you come home from visiting him, you're so much more comfortable, clear. More yourself. I get all of you, just the way I know you need to be. When you're getting what you need from him, then  _I_ can get what I need from  _you._  I know you did that for Noah. I bet Patrick gets the same thing."

Finn considered Kurt, trying to follow Kurt into that calm, rational space he was providing. It wasn't easy. "You got that from Adam."

Kurt considered the question carefully. "I do. I mean, I did. But it's not something we do every time, or even something I would count on. It's not quite the same as it is between Adam and Noah."

Finn could see Kurt watching his reaction to what he was saying. Finn wasn't worried. It was taking them time to get back to where he and Puck had been, but he wasn't jealous of Adam anymore, and he was pretty confident things would settle out eventually. He nodded. "And you think... you think it's good for me, what Carl and I are doing? Even though I have so many other things going on, so many people?"

"I really do," Kurt agreed. "I think you trust him. Even though it's scary. Even though it's hard to admit you might want the things he wants you to do." He put a gentle hand on Finn's knee. "And I think he would always listen to your safeword _,_  if you decided you didn't want any of them. Even if he planned it for you for your birthday. You're not going to disappoint him. Just be honest, and stay open, and listen to yourself."

Even in his agitated state, Finn could hear that Kurt was making sense. But he had to ask one more question. "Kurt... the way things are between me and Patrick. Is that what you want from me?"

Kurt hesitated, and licked his lips before answering. "I don't think that's something we need together, Finn. You've always been strong for me, given me what I needed in those moments when I was..." He laughed. "When I'm a brat. You take care of me in just the right way. I don't want you to worry about how it is between us. We've always figured it out together, and that's what I want from you."

It wasn't quite an answer to the question Finn had asked, but he thought Kurt was telling the truth. He leaned over and kissed him, gently, then more firmly, and felt a little more settled when Kurt shuddered and responded to his touch. "Okay," he said. "I think I'm ready to do... what he wants me to do."  _Whatever that might be._

Kurt turned the key in the ignition. "Good. Let's go see what he has waiting for you at your house."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This last part is excerpted from a stand-alone chapter in the Donutverse 50 Kinky Ways, entitled [A Door to Walk Through](http://archiveofourown.org/works/948488). You can continue reading there if you want to find out what Carl has waiting for Finn. (It's awesome.) Enjoy!
> 
> -amy


End file.
